


Guns, Knives and all the Things In Between

by xElementFivex



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Eventual Romance, Insecure Prompto, Kind of a jerk Gladio, M/M, Pre-game timeframe, Training, promptio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:07:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xElementFivex/pseuds/xElementFivex
Summary: Prompto just wants to learn how to fight. Gladiolus gives him way more than he bargains for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I need more Prompto/Gladio in my life, so I decided to write it. In this story, Prompto is way more timid and shy than we see in the game because he's still younger and hasn't quite grown into his self-confidence yet. And Gladio's just kind of an over-assertive ass.

It starts with an assassination attempt. 

Not of him; nobody would want to kill him. He’s just Prompto, best friend and consummate liar. Not even really a crown citizen. He’s nobody.

But Noctis is somebody, so it’s him that the man with the knife and the crazed eyes is running for.

It happens so fast that Prompto barely has time to register the hard glint of sunlight off steel and the pounding sound of footsteps on the pavement before the man is tackled to the ground by one of the royal guards. Just like that, it’s over before it’s even really begun. The would-be murderer is not even in cuffs yet when Noctis is whisked away into a palace car that’s all tinted windows and reinforced glass. Prompto’s shoved in roughly as an afterthought but he doesn’t mind because he’s pretty sure that left to his own devices, he’d still be standing on the sidewalk staring like an idiot.

Noctis doesn’t seem bothered, because it’s not the first time and it certainly won’t be the last. Being royalty, Prompto has come to realize, seems to come with more downsides than perks. Prompto's freaked out, but he doesn’t want to spoil the mood so he cracks a lame joke and Noctis smiles and the whole incident is put behind them.

Except that it’s not. 

That night Prompto can’t sleep. After tossing and turning for what feels like hours, he finally gives up and, with his eyes locked on the ceiling, lets the ‘what ifs’ consume him.

_What if next time the guards are too slow?_  
_What if next time the person has a gun?_  
_What if next time there’s no car nearby?_  
_What if next time it’s just me?_

The thoughts fill his head until he thinks it might burst and he shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubs until bright spots fill his vision. He’s never felt so inadequate, and given his friendship with Noctis, that’s saying a lot. Noctis would never say anything, but Prompto knows in his heart that he could try his entire life, and still not be worthy of the prince’s friendship. He fingers the barcode on his wrist and feels a fierce surge of protectiveness well up in his chest for his first real friend.

After that, his mind is firmly made up and he finally drifts to sleep, hand clenched tight around his wrist.

\---

“You want to learn how to fight?”

It’s the next day and Noctis and Prompto are sitting at a worn, brown folding table eating lunch. The school cafeteria is as loud as ever, though there is a calm pocket just around them, where the other students speak quietly and walk quickly around the crown prince.

Prompto holds up a French fry and tries not to be offended at the incredulous tone of Noctis' voice. “Yeah. I want to be able to defend myself.” The _and you_ he only adds in his mind.

“Hey man, if that’s what you want, more power to ya.” Noctis shrugs and takes another bite of his burger. He chews thoughtfully and gazes at Prompto across the table. “You know,” he says, “you could ask my trainer to teach you.”

Prompto shifts uncomfortably in his chair. The thought of him being trained by the same person as the crown prince of Lucis is almost laughable, really. “Sure.” He waves a casual hand in the air, hoping to undercut the strain he knows is audible in his voice.

“No, I’m serious!” Noctis is leaning across the table now, eyes intent on Prompto. “Go tonight, it’s his day off. I’ll even put in a good word for you.”

Prompto chuckles weakly and forces a smile and a thank you, but he definitely feels better once the subject switches to the term papers that they both have due in a few weeks. He hopes that Noctis will forget, but after the bell rings and they’re separating to go to different classes, a piece of paper with a hastily scribbled address and a name is shoved into his hands.

\---

Prompto tries to swallow past the massive lump in his throat. It takes all his effort not to turn on his heel and immediately walk back home. The house is huge and stately, and the slight twinge of dread he had started to feel on the long walk from his not-great, but affordable neighborhood to one of the districts ringing the royal palace quickly morphs into full-on panic. He had expected it, really, because anyone trusted with training the prince has to be a member of the royal court. Of course expecting something and seeing it with your own eyes are two very different things.

But he’s here for a reason, so he takes one last glance at the paper in his hand and makes sure he’s got the right address before shoving it back into his pocket. He takes a deep breath and tries to appear more confident than he feels as he pushes open the wrought-iron gate and marches up the steps to elaborate, wooden double doors. 

He only has to knock once before one of the doors swings open and a girl only a little younger than he is greets him. She’s pretty, with short brown hair and an open smile, and Prompto figures he might have a crush on her if he were into that sort of thing. Her name is Iris, she tells him and she seems nice so he digs the piece of paper back out of his pocket and shows her the name written on it and explains why he’s here. Not once during the entire conversation does he stop feeling that he clearly doesn't belong.

Iris smiles again, in that earnest way that makes Prompto duck his head and blush, and nods and then bounds off to parts unknown in the house. Still standing on the doorstep, he can hear her call, “Gladdy! Someone’s here for you! A friend of Noct’s!”

Prompto winces a little bit at her easy use of the nickname. Noctis has been telling him for the better part of the last year to call him Noct, but Prompto hasn’t been able to bring himself to do it. It’s a stupid hang up; one that he wishes he could just get over, but the name still feels too casual, too intimate on his tongue.

The man that comes to the door is huge and Prompto can’t help but stare. His broad shoulders fill the open frame and the muscles in his arms bulge when he crosses them over his chest. Prompto very pointedly tries to keep his gaze on the man's handsome face, and definitely _does not_ linger on how the thin fabric of his black tank top clings to his abdomen. 

Prompto’s heart skips a beat when he realizes that he actually recognizes the man. It’s one of Noctis’ many bodyguards. Prompto’s seen him quite a few times with Noctis, always a step behind and to the left of the prince, a quiet but intimidating presence. He hadn’t realize the man was his trainer as well.

“You’re Gladiolus?” The question hangs in the air between them.

The man stares him down and Prompto wants to cringe, but he came here with a purpose and this is important, so he sucks it up and does his best to meet it with his own level gaze. “I am,” the man finally answers, his voice a deep, rich baritone that sends a rush of heat right curling right through Prompto’s stomach. “What do you want?”

“I- I’m looking for a trainer. Noctis suggested I come to you.”

Another stare and this time Prompto swears he can feel contempt rolling off Gladiolus in waves. He knows the big man has looked at him, all five foot eight scrawny inches of him, and has found him wanting. He presses on anyway.

“I want to learn how to fight.”

Gladiolus snorts in apparent amusement and leans one massive shoulder against the doorframe. “And I told Noctis, I don’t have time to take on any lost causes right now.” He reaches out and wraps a huge hand around one of Promto’s biceps. “Hiding any muscle under that school uniform?” he asks derisively.

Prompto feels his face flush, heat rising up to color his freckles darker, either from embarrassment or from the sudden warmth of the hand wrapped around his arm; he’s not sure which. Regardless he shrugs his arm out from under the iron grip and frowns. 

“I’m a runner,” he offers, knowing that's not at all what Gladiolus is asking.

“Then I suggest that you _run_ from any fights. Like I said, I don’t have the time.” Gladiolus starts to turn away and before Prompto can stop himself, he reaches out and clamps a hand onto one tattooed forearm.

“Please?” He tells himself he won’t beg, but the last time something felt this important to him he spent years losing weight before he could even work up the nerve to talk to Noctis. “Please,” he repeats in a level voice. “I need to do this. For Noctis.”

Maybe it’s the prince’s name that does it or maybe something in his eyes is more sincere this time, but Gladiolus turns back towards him and purses his lips. The man takes a deep breath. His eyes are unreadable. “Fine.”

Elated, Prompto snatches his hand back from Gladiolus’ arm like he’s laid it on a hot stove. He starts to say thank you, but Gladiolus interrupts him. 

“I don’t do this for free, you know.”

Prompto’s enthusiasm dims a little. 

“How much?”

Gladiolus says a number and Prompto’s eyes go wide while he does a bit of mental math. He thinks he can just manage it as long as there are no emergencies, and he maybe eats a little more ramen than usual. _A lot more._ He forces a smile and agrees. 

“Tomorrow then, at seven.” 

And just like that, Prompto is staring at the wooden door as it shuts in his face. Part of him is a little proud of himself, and part of him is slightly nervous, and part of him is trying not to imagine what Gladiolus looks like with his shirt off. It’s more than enough to occupy his thoughts for the long walk home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with the story!

The next day Prompto is a bundle of nerves and anxious energy. He tries and fails to eat breakfast, but his stomach is busy wringing itself into knots. He taps and drums his fingers on his desk all the way through his classes, earning several reprimands that do nothing to help focus him. He barely hears as Noctis chatters through lunch, and doesn’t notice the concerned twist of the prince’s mouth as he watches Prompto pick at his food. 

Somehow, Prompto manages to make it through the rest of his day without causing an incident, and now he’s here, back in front of the huge estate, chewing nervously at the nail on his thumb. The sun is hanging low, but it’s nearing summer, so there’s still an hour or so of daylight left. The heat hasn’t really started yet, but Prompto can feel hints of it in the shifting breeze.

He’s just working up the nerves to go knock on the door, when it bangs open and Gladiolus emerges, a towel slung over one broad shoulder. The big man comes to a stop in front of him, his eyes taking in Prompto’s appearance with a quick downward flick. Prompto tugs nervously on his fingers, suddenly very aware of how scrawny he must look in comparison, standing there in his too-old t-shirt and faded gym shorts.

Gladiolus is wearing simple black track pants. They’re slightly baggy but seem to hug his thigh muscles in a way that makes Prompto flush. He’s wearing another one of those tight tank tops and, just like yesterday, Prompto very pointedly makes an attempt not to look at it. 

Gladiolus extends a hand, palm out, in Prompto’s direction, and for a second Prompto has no clue what he means. Then the man raises an eyebrow and Prompto turns an even darker shade of red, fumbling for his wallet before dropping a handful of crumbled bills into the outstretched hand. Seemingly satisfied, Gladiolus closes his fist on the money and begins to walk without a word.

Prompto assumes he’s supposed to follow, so he does. He has to do a hopping half-jog to keep up with Gladiolus’ long-legged strides. They continue in silence for minutes that seem to stretch into an awkward eternity before Prompto just can’t take it anymore. He hates silence, especially when he’s nervous.

“So um… where are the swords and stuff?”

“No weapons.” The reply is gruff and Gladiolus doesn’t even look at him.

“No weapons? But I thought that was kind of the point…”

Gladiolus sighs and explains in a tone much like he’s talking to a small child. “I have to get a baseline read on you first. You don’t touch a weapon until I know what I’m working with.”

“Oh.”

Mercifully, they reach their destination before Prompto can stick his foot any further into his mouth. They’ve stopped at the entrance to a park. The grass is green and manicured and it’s much nicer than anything in Prompto’s neighborhood. Gladiolus leads them past the empty play area and the tennis courts and stops at the track, a well-kept, brown dirt oval. Prompto’s spirits lift slightly at the familiar sight; he’s run many a track in the last couple years. 

He blushes again as he realizes that Gladiolus is standing, arms crossed, watching him and waiting. Prompto’s pretty sure at the rate he’s going, he may burst a few blood vessels and turn his face permanently red.

“Push-ups.”

“Hmm?”

“You have two minutes. Give me as many push-ups as you can manage.” Gladiolus has pulled out his cell phone and set a timer. 

Prompto stares, a little unsure. He’s not sure what he was expecting; maybe something that felt a little more like lesson than a gym class. Nevertheless, he lowers himself hesitantly to the ground, planting his toes and hands firmly in the dirt. He pushes himself up on shaky arms, and he’s not even half way there when he hears an exasperated sigh from above him and his trainer drops to the ground beside him. Gladiolus shows him the proper form, palms flat, hands twisted slightly inwards at shoulder width, elbows tucked in. He tries again and Gladiolus grumbles about keeping his body a straight line and pushes down on the small of Prompto’s back to fix it and Prompto swears the broad hand on his back nearly sets his skin on fire. He swallows the sensation and attempts a few more push-ups under Gladiolus’ watchful eyes. 

He’s only able to manage a handful that meet his trainer’s approval and doesn’t mark it anywhere near the two-minute mark before his arms give out on him and he lays trembling, cheek pressed into the dirt. Gladiolus makes an annoyed sound, but doesn’t say anything and for that much, at least, Prompto is thankful. 

They move on to sit-ups next and Prompto is a feeling a little better about it, because years of running has given him a somewhat decent core. His hopes are quickly squashed as he realizes that ‘somewhat’ is nowhere near good enough for Gladiolus’ standards. He’s shaking and starting to sweat and mentally cursing himself for all those years spent running without doing any other kind of work, by the time they’re done. 

Gladiolus gives him no time to recover as he leads Prompto through a flexibility test, pull-ups on the bars of the nearby gymnasium, planks, and a handful of other exercises that Prompto doesn’t even know the names for. Prompto doesn’t have to even look at Gladiolus; he knows he’s doing terribly. He can feel the disappointment rolling off the older man in waves. 

Prompto’s really, seriously thinking about just giving up when he finally catches a break. Gladiolus points a finger down the length of the track and tells Prompto to run and Prompto’s a little more excited than he should be to finally, finally show that he good at something.

It takes less than a minute for his feet to settle into that familiar rhythm, arms pumping at his sides, posture impeccable. The track flies by beneath his steady footsteps as his mind slips into that special place he always finds when he runs. He feels the tension in his body melting away as his anxiety over his performance leaves him. He can’t help the smile that crosses his face.

It’s over all too soon and he comes skidding to a stop in front of a grudgingly impressed Gladiolus. Prompto doesn’t expect praise, not at all, but his spirits are still a little dampened when all that comes out of Gladiolus’ mouth is a succinct, “Again”. He circles the track a few more times at his trainer’s insistence; twice to measure speed and the rest for stamina. 

Dark has fallen completely and the lights in the park have hummed to life by the fifth time he’s run the track. Bent over, hands on knees and gasping for breath, he sees Gladiolus lift a hand to order him out again. He doesn’t think he can go again and he’s tired and annoyed and frustrated and he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but this certainly isn’t it. 

“I still don’t see what any of this has to do with fighting,” he manages to wheeze out between gasps.

Gladiolus doesn’t answer and Prompto starts to think he’s just ignoring him, when a sharp tone he’s never heard before reaches his ears. He straightens up just in time to see the tail end of a flare of bluish-green light and suddenly there’s a sword in Gladiolus’ hand. Prompto stares. He knows about this, he’s heard Noctis talk about it before, but he’s never actually seen it. He wishes he knew how it worked, but the look on Gladiolus’ face makes the question die on his lips.

Gladiolus places the sword on the ground between them. 

“Hit me.”

“What?”

Gladiolus’ voice is quiet and firm. “Pick up the sword and hit me with it.”

Prompto looks from the man to the sword and back uneasily. It feels like a trick, but the big man’s eyes spur him into action. He grabs the sword clumsily in both hands, surprised at the weight of it. It’s heavier than he’s expecting and fits awkwardly in his grasp. He has no clue where to put his hands so he wraps them overlapping around the hilt and swallows nervously. 

He’s still trying to figure out the feel of the sword when something hits his chest with all the force of a truck and he flies backwards, landing flat on his back in the dust. Gladiolus is towering over him, pinning his legs in place with the bulk of his body, one massive forearm resting on Prompto’s throat. 

Prompto stares up, eyes wide, sword forgotten on the ground where it had fallen. Chills rush through him that he’s sure have nothing to do with the sweat still drying on his skin. Gladiolus’ face is far too close to his. Prompto licks his lips nervously.

“A blade is nothing more than a tool,” the big man says finally. He doesn’t relieve the pressure on Prompto’s neck and his eyes are more fiery than Prompto’s seen them yet. “Your body has to be your weapon, first and foremost.” He rolls to the side, releasing Prompto and picking up the discarded sword. “This,” he continues, “can only be as strong as the person wielding it.” 

Prompto doesn’t know what to say, so he sits up and rubs his throat and coughs, trying to banish the tingling sensation on his skin. Gladiolus looks at Prompto, and his expression is unreadable. 

“We’re done here.”

Prompto should be feeling relief at that statement, but he’s so worn out he feels nothing. “When’s the next lesson?”

Gladiolus looks at him again and Prompto is so tired he wants to cry. He shakes his head. “No more lessons. I’m not teaching you. You’re not ready.”

Prompto absorbs the words in shock for a moment. He wants to protest, but Gladiolus has already turned his back on the blonde and walks away so quickly that there’s no time for an argument to leave his lips. Prompto stares after him, and even though the air is warm, he shivers from the cold knot in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladio expects only the best. And he's kind of an asshole about it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

The next morning comes far too quickly for Prompto’s liking. 

He groans and buries himself further underneath his sheets, keeping his eyelids clenched as the sun pokes its way through his bedroom window. It feels like a challenge; he scrunches his eyes tighter in protest. 

He’s still wearing the same clothes from the night before, and his skin is sticky with long-dried sweat. After the crushing workout that Gladiolus had given him, he had barely been able to drag himself home. He had blindly kicked off his shoes after making it in the door, and had fallen, fully clothed, into his bed, slipping immediately into a dreamless, dead sleep.

Prompto wants nothing more, in this moment, than to go back to sleep and forget the world, and Gladiolus, and Noctis, and his own stupid weakness exist for just a few more precious hours. But the sun is too bright, and its rays are at the perfect angle to creep in under his eyelids and pry them apart, and…

His eyes fly open, the realization slapping him in the face like a bucket of ice water. The sun is too bright and at the completely wrong angle. His hand scrabbles for his phone, nearly knocking it from its perch in his haste. 

He finally catches a glimpse of the stark, red numbers and groans. He’s slept through his alarm… by a lot. His eyes fall shut in defeat as he runs both hands through his hair. It feels greasy and unwashed, because it is, and he can feel it sticking up in odd clumps against the roots. He turns over, doing his best to ignore what is now clearly early afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, and promptly buries himself under the sheets once more. 

The full ache and burn of his body is starting to make itself painfully known now. He’s an over-tuned guitar, arms and legs pulled tight until they feel like they might snap at any moment. Muscles he wasn’t even aware he had are now screaming at him. It’s absolutely miserable. The only thing that feels semi-okay are his thighs and calves, because he’s used to running, but even those hurt a little because he’s used to going for distance, not for speed.

As Prompto lays there, every twitch in his worn-out body sending a throbbing ache straight to his head, he hates everything. Or at least, he wants to. He wants to hate Gladiolus first, for pushing so damn hard and being so demanding, and for, after all of that, not even finding Prompto worthy of teaching. He wants to hate Noctis too, for being the reason for all of this in the first place. But he can’t hate Gladiolus because he’s just doing his job, and he can’t hate Noctis because it’s Noctis and he just can’t, so he settles for hating himself instead. 

Prompto hates every bright flare of pain and dull ache that snakes its way through his abused muscles. He hates that he’s weak and he especially hates that he can’t even fault Gladiolus for the completely undisguised looks of contempt from their session yesterday. He lays in bed and contemplates all the things he hates about himself for so long, that eventually he falls into an uneasy sleep. His body even hurts in his dreams.

\---

The next time Prompto wakes up, the light coming in through the window has a darker tint. His phone confirms that it’s much later and now he has definitely missed all of school. He can’t really bring himself to care. For a second, he wonders what woke him up, head still fuzzy from too much sleep at the wrong time of day. Then there’s another round of furious pounding on his front door that clears up the mystery pretty quickly.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he calls out blearily as he hauls his sore body up out of bed and stumbles toward the door. Luckily, his apartment is small; he doesn’t have far to go. 

When he finally remembers how to work the door, he’s surprised to see Noctis on the other side. The prince doesn’t wait for permission, just brushes past Prompto like he belongs there and throws himself down at the kitchen table. Noctis looks at Prompto, eyebrows disappearing under his shaggy bangs, as he announces, “Dude. You reek.”

Prompto thinks he would probably blush, if he had the energy or motivation to be embarrassed, but he’s still a little numb. If this were any other time, he’d be stammering by now, because he knows he’s a hot mess right now and the thought of the crown prince of Lucis in his apartment is a little bit mortifying. It’s small and cramped, and somehow both sadly bare yet still messy at the same time. 

But Prompto’s mind is still firmly on the events of yesterday, so he just shrugs in a mild apology and closes the door, leaning back against it to stare back at Noctis. The thought of folding his body into a chair right now seems like a little more than he can handle. 

“I was beat last night. I fell asleep without showering.”

“Well, you missed school. I brought you notes.” When Prompto doesn’t move to collect the offered papers, Noctis lets them fall to the table in a heap. The prince screws up his face and his gaze lands somewhere slightly above Prompto’s left shoulder. “How’d it go with Gladio?”

Prompto sighs; from his face, Noctis evidently already knows how it went. Prompto wonders for a brief moment how he found out, but he quickly dismisses the thought. It would clearly be too much to ask that one of the more embarrassing moments of his life be kept a secret. 

Prompto sighs again and lets his back slide down the length of the door until his butt hits the floor, ignoring the twinge of pain in his legs as he pulls them against the chest. This is his friend, and yeah maybe they haven’t been friends for very long yet, but this is how it’s supposed to work. They’re supposed to talk about stuff. Probably. 

Prompto props his chin on his knees and now Noctis is actually looking him in the eyes again. “It was pretty terrible,” he finally admits. Prompto takes Noctis’ silence as encouragement to keep going. “I sucked… and Gladiolus seems like kind of an asshole.”

Noctis snorts in laughter. “Yeah, Gladio can come off that way, but he’s actually a pretty good guy. He wasn’t my favorite person either, but he’ll grow on you."

“He won’t get the chance to, he fired me.”

“Fired you?” Noctis raises his eyebrows again. 

“Whatever, he ‘let me go’. Thanks, but no thanks and all that jazz. I suck too much to teach.”

“Jeez, pity party much?”

“Well, it’s true!” Prompto wants to pout, but the shreds of his dignity he has left won’t allow him to. “I can’t do a push-up or a pull-up to save my life and he even wore me out at running, which is the one thing I’m actually good at. I barely touched a weapon, and when I did, he fucking demolished me before I even got a chance to figure out what the hell I was doing.”

“Oh, boo-hoo.” Prompto is fairly certain that Noctis actually rolls his eyes at him. “Do you know how many times Gladio knocked me on my ass when he was training me? Hell, it still happens at least once a week and I’ve been learning to fight for years.”

“Yeah, but…” Prompto trails off, his words dragging him down like lead weights. He isn’t sure what he wants to say. 

Yeah, but you’re the prince.   
Yeah, but you’re better than me.  
Yeah, but I don’t deserve the chance.

But he doesn’t say any of that, clamping his traitorous mouth shut instead. 

“Look,” Noctis says, clearly exasperated, “you’ve just got to handle Gladio in a way that he understands. Be an asshole right back to him. It’s too early to just give up. Besides… you can’t let him feel like he’s won. He’s obnoxious when he thinks that he’s right.”

Prompto chews on his lip in thought and nods, and Noctis steers the conversation over to what he had missed at school that day. Prompto doesn’t pay much attention, half-heartedly nodding in all the right spots and laughing at the appropriate moments. He’s secretly a little glad when there’s a loud honk from outside and Noctis groans in annoyance and makes his way out the door to a waiting Ignis. 

Prompto thinks, and thinks, and thinks about what Noctis had said, the words are tumbling around his brain, ricocheting off each other like bullets until his head starts to hurt. Before he can start second-guessing himself, he’s up and out the door, feet pounding the pavement. He starts at a brisk walk that turns into a jog that nearly turns into a full-out sprint as he barely manages to contain his new pent-up energy. 

The trip to Gladiolus’ house is over in an instant and Prompto wastes no time bounding up the front steps and hammering the door with his fist. If he stops for too long, and thinks about what he’s about to do, he knows he’ll chicken out. Iris opens the door, eyes wide with curiosity, as Prompto manages a tight, ‘Where?’. To her credit, she seems to know what he wants immediately. She points to a hallway off the main room and indicates the second door on the right. He brushes past her, feeling her confused stare on the back of his head. He’s too wound up to care. 

“You!” He throws open the door. Gladiolus is seated on a wide bed, chest bare, towel wrapped around his waist, dragging a comb through his wet hair. The big man’s forehead bunches in confusion for a moment, before it smooths back out and Gladiolus glares at him. He looks annoyingly unruffled, Prompto thinks. Like blonde, angry teenagers came bursting into his room all the time. 

“You!” Prompto repeats again, stopping a foot away from Gladiolus and poking a finger in his direction angrily. “You are going to teach me. I am going to work, and train, and get better, and then you are going to teach me!”

With that, he’s said what he came here to say, so he turns on his heel and stalks back out of the room, past Iris and back out of the house as quickly as he can. He’s halfway home before the mortification starts to set in. Did he really? Did he really just do that? And all of the sudden, Prompto is painfully aware of how stupid he must have looked, still in the same clothes from yesterday, unwashed hair sticking up at odd angles, storming into someone else’s house and shouting at them, demanding they teach him. 

He takes a deep breath and stops walking for a moment, hiding his face in his hands. After taking a moment to compose himself, he drops his hands and resumes walking. There’s nothing he can do now, but make good on his word. It’s time to make himself better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompto's got a bit of a backbone under there somewhere!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bleh. Boring chapter. But necessary set-up.

Deciding to be better is monumentally easier than actually being better, Prompto comes to find out very quickly. In fact, this self-improvement may be the hardest thing he’s ever done, and though he’s young, he feels like he’s done a lot. 

He had only planned on working out until he could properly face up to Gladiolus again, but it rapidly becomes more than that. He settles into a new schedule over the next few weeks. He’s already used to running in the mornings before school, so that’s not too hard an adjustment for him. But he does up the intensity, waking before the sun every day to add an additional couple of miles onto his route.

The park where he had had his first training session with Gladiolus becomes like a second home. If he’s not at school, or at his apartment, he’s almost guaranteed to found circling the track or hanging from the playground bars, trying to perfect his pull-ups. By the time he’s been doing this for a month, people have begun acknowledging him with a smile or a friendly tilt of the head. It’s nice, almost like when he first started running all those years ago, and it fills him with a strange sense of pride. 

The first week or so had been absolutely brutal on his body. He had pushed himself hard- harder than he probably should have. There had been a few times when, lying in bed with his legs twitching and the muscles in his arms feeling like they were being prodded with red-hot pokers, he had seriously considering throwing in the towel. But he had pushed through. 

And things did get better. Slowly, at first, his legs got stronger and his arms began to fill out in ways he couldn’t help but admire in the mirror. Prompto had realized one evening with a start that it had been at least a week without being woken in the middle of the night by his various aches and pains. 

There were some downsides; his grades, which were not stellar to begin with, had definitely started to slip into the not-so-acceptable category. He tried to care when his teacher handed him another paper with a red F across the top and Noctis arched a questioning eyebrow at him. It was hard though. He felt like a shark with the scent of blood in the water. He had a goal and a plan and school was not a part of that, for now. 

At some point, Gladiolus had begun to watch him. The first time Prompto had noticed, he had been circling the track in an almost lazy way, debating in his head whether or not he had the money for take-out that night, when he felt the familiar creep of eyes on the back of his head. When he had finally caught sight of Gladiolus, leaning casually against the nearby swing set, eyes following Prompto’s every move, he had flushed red from the bottom of his neck to the tops of his ears. After that, he had done his best to ignore both the big man and the sudden flurry of butterflies that had seemed to take up residence in his stomach.

Gladiolus had stayed, silent and watching, until Prompto had finally called it a night. He never approached him or said anything and by the time Prompto had finished his cool-down lap, the bigger man was gone. It appeared that whatever he had seen had made him happy though, because after that Gladiolus began to appear once or twice a week. He only ever watched, arms crossed, face expressionless, but still his presence spurred Prompto to improve his performance even more. It also made him nervous, but Prompto told himself it was just because he wanted Gladiolus’ approval. Probably.

Sometimes Noctis comes with Prompto and those days are his favorite. Having the prince with him makes the workouts go by that much faster and it’s always good to have someone else encouraging him besides himself. Prompto occasionally finds himself staring with envy at Noctis’ upper arms. They’re lean and nicely muscled from years of wielding a sword and Prompto can’t help his jealousy. He sighs and remind himself that he will get there too eventually, as long as he doesn’t mess this whole thing up.

To Prompto’s surprise, one afternoon Ignis joins them for a run, stripping to the waist to reveal a chest that’s much more toned than he was expecting. He tries not to stare. The prince’s advisor keeps up easily with the pace Prompto sets, though Prompto is secretly pleased to discover that of the three of them, he’s the fastest. 

“He’s all bark and very little bite, you know.”

“Huh?”

For a moment, Prompto is so taken aback he doesn’t even process what Ignis is saying. It’s astonishment, really. He can’t remember the solemn man ever really speaking to him beyond a perfunctory ‘hello’ as their paths crossed in the parking lot after school.

“Gladio,” Ignis explains, something like amusement playing across his features. “He may be occasionally rough around the edges, but he’s a good man. You’re lucky to have a chance to learn from him. He doesn’t take many students.”

“Well, he almost didn’t take me,” Prompto replies. They’ve just finished another loop of the track. He figures a few more times around should just about do it for today. “I’m not even sure if he’s still my trainer or not. I kind of ambushed him.”

He hears Noctis stifle a laugh from a few paces behind him. Ignis shoots the prince an admonishing glance and continues. “Yes, well he’s impressed with your progress. He said he didn’t think you had it in you.” 

All of the sudden, Prompto is very happy that they’re running so hard. He thinks he can probably pass off the brief coloring of his cheeks as exertion. “Hmmm,” is his only response. 

They’re quiet after that, the only sounds are their footfalls and breathing, and the occasional shriek of children from the playground. 

He feels the rock underfoot at the last second, too late to do anything but frantically throw his hands out in front of himself as he goes down, hard. His right knee twists beneath him and hurts like a son of a bitch. It’s a familiar pain. He realizes with humiliation that Noctis and Ignis have both slowed to a stop and are looking down at him with twin looks of concern. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Prompto insists, trying to wave them off. “I’ve done this before, no big deal.” He has a history with this knee, but this is the first time it’s acted up in quite a while. He’s just glad it didn’t happen one of the times that Gladiolus was watching him. Prompto attempts to rise and his knee immediately gives out on him; he falls back to the ground with an ‘oomph’.

Ignis drops to his knees beside him and just like that, the older man is all business. He’s clipped and concise and Prompto’s more than a little impressed at how quickly he transitions from casual friend to caretaker. Ignis’ slender hands encircle Prompto’s knee, fingers probing delicately at the sore flesh. It’s beginning to swell and darken. Prompto takes a sharp breath, hissing slightly, when he presses on the spot where the pain’s the worst, but besides that it’s not too bad. 

“Nothing torn,” Ignis announces, as he releases Prompto’s leg, rocking back onto his own heels. “Just sprained, I believe.” He rises and begins to brush the red track dust from his pants. Prompto feels a twinge of embarrassment for making the normally uptight man kneel in the dirt. 

“It’s an old injury.” This time he accepts the help as both Noctis and Ignis reach down to pull him up. He stands, carefully balanced on his uninjured leg, and when Noctis offers his shoulder for support, Prompto takes it gratefully.

Between the two of them, they manage to get Prompto to the car with no further incident. As he slides into the backseat, ignoring the twinge of pain in his knee, he’s secretly relieved the prince and his advisor are there to help. He doesn’t even want to imagine the walk home otherwise. 

“So,” Noctis asks, once the car is underway. It’s starting to get dark and the streetlights flickering to life cast alternating bright and dark bars of light across his face. “How long until I can officially make fun of you for this?”

Prompto groans and hangs his head. “At least give me until I heal. By then, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of ammo anyway.” He sighs unhappily. “There’s no way he’ll teach me now. I’m pretty sure being able to walk is one of those things you have to do to fight. How embarrassing.”

He catches Ignis’ eyes in the rearview mirror; they look like he’s smiling. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

\---

The next morning is a Saturday and Prompto’s exhausted, so he sleeps until almost noon. He’s annoying at himself for setting his training schedule so far back but also a little grateful that he won’t have to do anything today. 

There’s a package on his porch when he hobbles out to check the mail. His name is scrawled across the top in an untidy script, but other than that the box is blank. He frowns as he opens it, at a loss as to what it might be. He knows he hasn’t ordered anything recently, and no one ever sends him mail. 

Inside, there’s a knee brace. A good one, he realizes, with much more support than the old one he’s been using. Digging deeper into the box, he comes up with a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers. There’s a note wrapped around it. 

‘Next Saturday. 3 pm.’

It’s not signed, but it doesn’t need to be. Prompto smiles at the warm rush of pride he feels in his chest as he slips the note into his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter is where the fun stuff starts!


	5. Chapter 5

“State your business.” The tone is rough, formal and unforgiving.

“I, um, I-“

Prompto’s only ever seen the palace from a distance, though he’s lived most of his life in the shadow of the behemoth structure. The gleaming façade is ever visible on the skyline in most parts of the city, and even from his neighborhood, the tops of the towers can be seen on clear days. The palace is just another constant of life in Insomnia, like the glimmering Wall or the morning traffic. 

But no amount of distant viewings has prepared Prompto for the reality of it. He feels lost amid the gleaming staircase and soaring buttresses. The palace is more intimidating and enormous than he had imagined, and standing there, he feels overwhelmingly small and insignificant. He clamps a sweaty palm over his wrist, fighting back an urge to tug at the bracelets covering the barcode. 

“I’m sorry?” he offers weakly, voice rising at the end in question. He’s painfully aware of how ridiculously out of place he must look. 

“Your business.” The royal guard repeats himself slowly, as if he’s talking to someone very small or very stupid. He probably thinks Prompto is both. 

“Um, I’m here for…” Prompto trails off under the man’s hard gaze. He wants desperately to turn tail and run back to the safety of his apartment. 

Whatever bumbling response he’s going to give is cut mercifully short by a voice from somewhere behind him. “It’s all right, he’s with me.” The guard, recognizing both the voice and its owner, gives a curt nod and resumes his spot by the massive door, countenance set back into a mean stare. 

Prompto can’t think when he’s ever been as happy to see anyone as he is to see Ignis in this moment. He turns and watches the prince’s advisor ascending the steps toward hi. His hair is slicked back and he’s carrying a large bundle of folders beneath one arm. Once his back is to the guard, Prompto mouths a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the man. Ignis’ only response is a slight nod and a quick jerk of the head that Prompto takes as an indication to follow. 

They turn away from the main entrance of the palace, cutting a path downwards and to the right on the wide, marble steps. Prompto half walks, half jogs to keep up with Ignis’ hurried pace. 

“Your first time at the palace?” His voice is softer now, no trace of the commanding tone he had assumed with the guard. Prompto nods sheepishly. He’s only ever been to Noctis’ apartment, which is overwhelming in its own way, but nothing compared to the palace. 

“Yes. It’s…” he hesitates, searching for the proper words, before settling lamely on the only thing that comes to mind, “big.”

A small smile crosses Ignis’ face. “That, it is. It frightened me too, the first time I saw it. Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

Prompto’s not sure he believes him. “If you say so.”

Ignis chuckles before continuing. “I assume you’re here to meet with Gladio?” Prompto nods. “Well, from now on, I suggest you use this entrance. It’s a little bit less daunting.”

Ignis has led him to a door set down nearly at street level, recessed behind a decorative archway. Prompto doubts he would have seen it, had it not been pointed out to him. There’s only one guard here, with a patch on the sleeve of his uniform that indicates he’s part of the Glaive, not just the royal guard. He waves them both through. 

The door shuts behind them with an audible click and Prompto sighs in relief. Ignis seems to have brought him into one of the worker’s areas, and it’s much more utilitarian than he was expecting. None of the elaborate architecture or fancy decorations that are probably present in the parts of the palace that see people other than staff. They hurry along the spotless halls, passing men and women in varying uniforms who all seem intent on their own tasks. After the fifth turn or so, Prompto gives up on trying to remember their path. 

They remain in amicable silence for the rest of the walk, Ignis striding with purpose and Prompto following quickly behind. At last, they stop beside an unmarked door; it looks no different than the dozens they’ve already passed but Ignis pushes him forward with a wave of the hand and disappears in a rustle of papers with a murmured ‘good luck’. Prompto thinks to himself for a moment, that maybe he hasn’t given Ignis nearly enough credit before. The man is a lifesaver, really. 

There’s nothing left to do but go through the door. Prompto swallows hard, doing his best to ignore the ball of anxiety that seems to have taken up permanent residence in his chest. He had been distracted by the guards and then by Ignis, and hadn’t really had the chance to be nervous yet. Now his body was making up for lost time, it seemed. 

Stop it, he tells himself roughly and he schools his face into what he hopes is a neutral expression as he pushes open the door and steps inside. His traitorous stomach flipflops in protest. 

The room is large and rectangular and very bright. Sunlight steams in from the dozen skylights and illuminates the space, empty save for the mats lining the floor and the large figure in the middle of the room. His teacher has his eyes closed, a broadsword clasped in both hands. He’s running through practice forms and Prompto can’t help but stare. The big man moves with a surprising grace, the lines of his body flowing and moving as if the sword were as much a part of him as his arms or legs. Prompto’s stomach feels unsettled again, though this time it’s not from nerves. 

He takes another step forward and Gladiolus’ eyes snap open. He turns to face Prompto and there’s a sharp sound and a flare of light as his weapon disappears. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he begins. Gladiolus cuts him off with a wave. 

“It’s fine. Sit.” He indicates the mat-covered floor. Prompto drops down into a cross-legged position, twisting his hands together nervously. Gladiolus towers above him, surveying him for a long moment before Prompto remembers. 

“Oh! I’m sorry. Let me get the money!” He scrambles to dig in one of his pockets but Gladiolus puts up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. 

“No money today. We’re going to talk.” Prompto jumps a little when Gladiolus drops easily down on the ground across from him, big legs folding to mirror Prompto’s position. “How’s the knee?”

“It’s okay.” 

“May I?” Prompto nods and suddenly there doesn’t seem to be enough air in the room because Gladiolus is in his space, his large hands framing Prompto’s knee. He smells like soap and sweat and it makes Prompto feel a bit dizzy. His fingers prod at the knee, and when Prompto shows no signs of pain, the big man draws his hands back. Prompto does a quick once-over of himself to check if he’s on fire; his skin is burning where Gladiolus has touched it. 

“Good. It looks like you healed well.”

“Thank you for the brace. It helped.”

Gladiolus pauses for just a second, and Prompto swears a look of embarrassment crosses his face. It’s gone so fast that Prompto’s not sure he didn’t imagine it. Gladiolus continues as if he hadn’t heard him. 

“I want to talk about why you’re here.”

For a moment, Prompto’s confused. “You… told me to meet you here.”

“Not why you’re physically here, but why you want to know how to fight.” There’s just the barest hint of exasperation in the big man’s voice and Prompto blushes at his own stupidity. “I need to know if I’m going to teach you. I need to know I won’t be wasting my times or yours. If you just want to learn because you think it looks cool or so you can win in some stupid schoolyard fights-“

Prompto shakes his head so vigorously that for a second his eyes cross. “No,” he says, surprised at the firmness in his own voice. “That’s not it.” Gladiolus remains silent, but raises his eyebrows as if to encourage him to continue. Prompto takes a deep breath. “Noctis is my best friend. He’s my only friend and he’s the prince and I’m just me. I want to be better. I want to be able to protect him and right now I can’t. I’m useless. I need to be better.”

He’s rambling, but the words tumble out faster than he can stop them. He’s realizes he’s breathing hard and he hopes Gladiolus hasn’t noticed. The big man stares at him for another long moment, some unreadable expression in his eyes. Finally, he nods and says, “Ok. I can work with that.”

Prompto feels a grin spread across his face before he can stop it. He digs the nails of one hand into his palm and bites down the sudden urge to hug Gladiolus. He wonders briefly what it would be like and feels the back of his neck heat up. He settles his gaze back on his teacher, who is still sitting across from him, hopefully completely unaware of the thoughts that are tumbling through Prompto’s mind. 

“If we’re going to do this, I’ve got three rules.” Gladiolus holds up one massive hand, pointer finger extended in the air, and Prompto nods. He’s pretty sure at this point, he’ll say yes to anything, so long as Gladiolus promises to teach him. “Number one: no potions or curative magic of any kind. Only good, old-fashioned Bactine and band-aids. If you get injured in my class, you deal with it. Learn to work through it, because one day you might not have a choice.”

Prompto clamps his tongue down and resists the urge to point out that he has no chance of affording such things anyway. He nods his understanding instead. 

Gladiolus extends another finger. “Two: you always come to class. I don’t care if you’re sick or upset or just don’t feel like it that day. In the real world, you don’t get to pick and choose to fight only when it’s convenient for you. You have to learn total control over your body, no matter how you’re feeling.”

A third finger joins the first two. “And three: this is the most important one. You have to try.”

“Huh?” Prompto can’t help the question that escapes his lips. Gladiolus’ eyes meet his own with an intensity that leaves him wanting to tremble. 

“Try,” Gladiolus repeats, his voice serious. “Whether it’s hard, or you’re tired, or hurt, you have to promise you will always, always push yourself to be better. Those are my rules.”

Prompto swallows thickly. He wonders if Gladiolus’ eyes can see into his soul, they’re staring so hard.   
“Yes.”

Gladiolus smiles. It’s a small, hard thing but it’s the first time Prompto can ever recall seeing it. The big man bounds to his feet, his grace still surprising for someone with so much bulk. “Good, we’ll start with some footwork.”

By the time, Prompto leaves the palace, night has fallen and the streets are empty. He exhausted and sore, but he’s too happy to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like it when things go well. Yayyy, Prompto.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay new chapter! I had to rewrite it a lot before it finally came together.

Gladiolus’ lessons are almost as hard as his abs, which- as Prompto’s bruised knuckles can attest to- are very hard indeed. Regardless of the pain, Prompto finds himself grinning like an idiot as he picks at the cloth bandage wrapped around his swollen hand. He’s sore and tired and he’s covered in more bruises than he could possibly count, but he is without a doubt, absolutely the happiest he thinks he’s ever been.

“Hey, Prompto, you alive in there?” 

Prompto bats at the hand waving in front of him and pulls a face at Noctis, who relaxes back into his chair now that he’s got the blonde’s attention. It’s the end of the school day and they should be working, but they’re talking instead, waiting out the last few minutes of the clock. The teacher has long since given up and retreated back to her desk, probably just as relieved as her students that the day was almost over. 

“You all right man? You zoned out on me there for a couple of minutes.”

Prompto nods, and winces a little as the action pulls at one of his many sore muscles. “I’m fine,” he assures the prince. 

“You sure?” Noctis narrows his eyes, scrutinizing Prompto’s appearance. “Because you look like you just crawled out of a war zone. Seriously, there’s rumors going around school that you owe someone some serious money, and that’s why you’ve been coming in looking like you’re got the crap beaten out of you.”

Prompto winces at that, but he’s already used to being the weird kid. Really, what’s one more rumor? “I have gotten the crap beaten out of me.”

“Gladio does know he’s supposed to be training you, not killing you, right?”

“Gladio-“ Prompto pauses, feeling the name out on his tongue. It’s been a few weeks since Gladiolus- Gladio- had insisted Prompto stop using his full name. He had said it made him feel too formal. Prompto had been doing his best since then, but the nonchalance still feels foreign. He supposes it can’t be helped though. It’s probably only right to be on a more familiar basis with the man who had left bruises on pretty much every square inch of his body. “It’s good,” he finally decides on. “I’m learning a lot.”

Noctis rolls his eyes as the school bell finally rings. Whatever smart ass reply he had been planning gets lost in the clamor of teenagers packing their backpacks and talking loudly about their weekend plans. Prompto shoves the papers on his desk into his own bag, the red markings covering his latest test conspicuously bright. Prompto catches Noctis’ too-casual glance and hurriedly zips the bag shut, hiding the offending paper. 

“Do you want to study together this weekend?” Noctis asks as they make their way out to the parking lot. 

“Since when do you care about studying?” Prompto raises his eyebrows, glancing curiously at Noctis. Sure, the prince doesn’t do badly in school by any means, but he’s never been one to suggest working on the weekends. 

“Shut up. I study. I just thought maybe,” Noctis rubs the back of his neck and averts his eyes, like he’s embarrassed to be saying it, “maybe, you’d like some help. I noticed you haven’t been doing too great.”

“Maybe, if I have time.” Prompto shrugs and Noctis seems satisfied enough with the answer. 

“Want a ride to the palace?” Noctis changes the subject, for which Prompto is entirely too grateful. “Ignis is driving me there anyways, if you want to join.”

“Nah. I think I’ll run. I need the warm-up.”

They walk the rest of the way to the prince’s waiting car in amicable silence before parting ways. As Ignis drives off, Prompto shifts his backpack on his shoulders into a more comfortable position and settles into a light jog. It’s a couple of miles to the palace, but that’s nothing to him by now and he’s found that running before a training session is a good way to clear his head. 

He does his best to think of nothing much on the way, retreating to a calm, introspective place inside himself. In what feels like no time at all, he’s slowing to a stop in front of the smaller access door Ignis had showed him on that first day. He nods at the guard- it’s his favorite, the one with braids in his hair and an easy smile- and makes his way into the palace. The jitters he had felt before are mostly gone, though every now and then he still gets the overwhelming feeling that he doesn’t belong here at all. 

Gladio’s beaten him to the training room, and is already out on the mats, practicing something with his sword that looks more like a dance than combat. Prompto takes a moment to admire the lithe, long lines of the man’s body, fighting back the heat the always seem to rise in his chest at the most inopportune times.

He doesn’t interrupt Gladio, instead shrugging off his backpack and dropping to the mats a few paces away to start stretching. He’s halfway through his warm-up routine when Gladio banishes the sword with a small rush of air and a flare of light and comes to join him. They’re silent for a moment, before Gladio says gruffly, “You practice this week?”

“Yep,” Prompto nods an affirmative, bending forward over one knee to hook both hands around his toes. All the work they’ve been doing has at least made definite improvement to his flexibility. 

“You ready?”

Prompto nods again and rolls out the muscles in his neck and shoulders before standing up, wincing. Gladio definitely sees it, but he doesn’t say anything. He never does, and Prompto’s proud of the fact that he’s managed to never once complain about all the aches and injuries he’s acquired during his lessons. 

Gladio settles into a fighters stance, centering his weight and that calm, cool, soldier look washes over his face. It’s intimidating. It had taken Prompto weeks to get used to the way the man could transition from regular, albeit massive, guy into deadly fighter. He hopes he can do it even half as well as Gladio by the time they’re done. 

Gladio nods at him and Prompto feels his mind go blank, just like he’s practiced. He pushes all his thoughts to the back of his mind: his failing grades, his insecurity, the little thrill that races up his spine every time he sees Gladio. There’s no room for any of that when he’s fighting; there’s only room for action and reaction. He rushes in at Gladio, hoping to take him by surprise. The big man ducks effortlessly to the side and pops Prompto on the side of the head as he rushes past. Prompto rubs at his temple, ear ringing loudly where it’s been hit. 

“Remember what I taught you last week,” Gladio reminds him with an admonishing tone. 

Prompto grumbles slightly before answering. “Momentum.”

“Right.” Gladio’s fist darts out and Prompto blocks easily. Weeks of training have made some things like second nature already. “Someone your size is never going to take out someone my size with brute force. You gotta react and use your enemy’s momentum against them.”

Prompto catches the slight tense of Gladio’s legs and reacts without thinking, throwing himself to the side as Gladio breezes past him. He takes advantage of the man’s turned back and strikes him across the shoulders. Gladio turns to face him, smiling, and Prompto feels his heart leap in his chest. “Good! You’re getting better.”

They continue to spar until both men are drenched in sweat and panting. Gladio lands several hits on him, and Prompto is able to answer with a few of his own, and it’s definitely a vast improvement from where he started. 

That’s probably where he goes wrong; he’s getting too confident and his mind is somewhere else when Gladio’s fist slams into his nose. 

“Shit!” Prompto’s hands fly up to clutch at his face, sending a wave of pain straight through to the back of his skull. He pushes slightly and can feel the cartilage give way and grate together. He’s bleeding freely over his hands now and feeling slightly nauseous. Another strike lands right between his shoulder blades, pushing him forward. 

“Stop! I think you broke my nose!” Gladio’s circling him, a predator eyeing its prey. His fist darts out again, and Prompto blocks at the last second, blood dripping from his hands to the mats below. 

“A real fight doesn’t stop just because you get hurt.” Another hit. Prompto twists the side and the blow glances off his jaw. 

“Not fair!” If he weren’t so preoccupied, he’d be mortified at his whiny tone, but all his attention is currently on Gladio and keeping the man away from him. 

“Fights aren’t fair!” Gladio punctuates his word by lashing out with his fists and Prompto backs up so quickly he almost trips over his own feet. “Come on Prompto, end it!”

Prompto dodges again and sees an opening. He doesn’t hesitate and he’s relieved when his fist finds flesh. Abruptly both men stop moving and drop their hands. Gladio smiles and rubs at the spot on his cheek where’s Prompto’s punch had landed. There’s a smear of blood there that must have come from Prompto’s hands. He can taste blood where it’s run into his mouth and his nose is getting increasingly difficult to breathe through. He probably looks like a nightmare. 

“Good job.” 

It’s high praise from Gladio and Prompto flushes happily, the pain in his nose worth it for the moment. 

“We need to get you riled up more often,” Gladio continues. “You fight with more confidence when you’re angry.”

“What the fuck?”

Gladio and Prompto both turn towards the door towards the new voice. Noctis is standing there, hands thrown up in disbelief; Ignis stands a few paces back, something like bemusement playing across his face. 

“What, are you trying to kill him?” Noctis asks Gladio pointedly. 

Gladio just raises an eyebrow at the prince. “I’ve given you worse many times, and you know it.”

“Still,” comes the grumbled reply, “You could at least try to take it a little easier.”

“Then I wouldn’t be me.”

Noctis rolls his eyes at that and approaches Prompto, reaching a hand out towards his face, heedless of the blood still dripping down. “Want to go get yourself cleaned up? Iggy needs a minute with Gladio anyways.”

Prompto nods in relief and Noctis slings a casual arm around his friend, leading him out of the room. He’s and bloody and his face is a wreck, but that doesn’t stop the warm feeling of pride in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! What's everyone think so far?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, new chapter!!!!

The sun is just beginning to set over Insomnia, the rays reflecting off the Wall in a shimmering, beautiful array of reds and golds, when Prompto and Noctis finally head for the palace. Their driver today isn’t Ignis, and for that Prompto is slightly disappointed. He’s beginning to enjoy the taciturn man’s quiet company.

“How does it feel?”

Prompto grimaces and brings a tentative hand to his nose. The swelling in his face has thankfully finally settled down, but the bruising is still spectacularly garish. His nose and eyes are a kaleidoscope of color, deep purple-ish black leading into blue and green that finally fades out to a sickly yellow around the edges of his eyebrows. It’s still tender to the touch, though the school nurse had assured him the cartilage appeared to be healing just fine. 

“Still hurts,” he answers honestly.

Noctis makes a face back at him. Prompto just shrugs and props his chin up on his hand, staring out the car window at the sky. Sunsets in Insomnia really are a sight to behold. 

“Thanks for the ride,” he says some time later. Noctis just waves a casual hand at him.

“Of course,” the prince replies. “You know you can always catch a ride with me.”

“I know,” Prompto sighs. “I just normally enjoy running. Still can’t though, it hurts my face.”

“I tried to tell Gladio to go a little easier on you. He just laughed.”

“Sounds about right.”

They’re laughing as the car pulls to a stop in front of the palace. Prompto waves to the prince as he pulls his body up and out the car, swinging his backpack on his shoulders. “Thanks again.”

To his surprise, Gladio isn't in the training room when he arrives. Instead there's someone else; a tall, slender figure with daggers in his hands, whirling and thrusting the knives with deadly precision. The man moves with the same startling grace as Gladio, maybe a little less practice, but with all the same venomous beauty.

With a final flourish of blades, the man turns to face Prompto, daggers flickering out of being in his hands. With a start, he realizes it's Ignis. Trying to keep the surprise off his face, he mentally adds another item to the list he's been building of things about Ignis that surprise him. The list has been getting rather long in the last few months. Although logically, it makes sense, the advisor to the prince would surely be required to be trained in defense as well. It was just that Ignis had always struck him as a man who was deadly with words, not weapons.

“You're really good.” Prompto doesn't bother to mask the admiration in his voice. Ignis doesn't strike him as the type to let flattery get to him, nor to take praise when it isn't due.

“Yes.” The answer has no trace of bragging or bravado, just simple truth. “I've had years of training. Some of it with Gladio.”

“Speaking of, where is he? He normally beats me here.”

“Ah. You're with me today. Bring your bag.”

Ignis' long-legged stride takes him to the door before Prompto has time to form a response. Prompto catches up to him outside the room, hurrying to match his pace as Ignis leads them. They walk in silence for a few minutes, making still more turns in the maze of identical hallways, until Ignis stops in front of a polished wooden door, gilded with ornate designs in gold around the border. Prompto wonders for a brief moment how anyone manages to get anywhere in the palace; he always feels thoroughly lost.

Ignis pushes open the door, revealing the room within. Prompto's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He had been expecting another practice room of some sort, but instead Ignis has led him to what appears to be a small library. The room is all done up in dark mahoganies, a long table running the length of the room, with enough space for at least twenty simple, yet elegant chairs. Bookshelves line the walls, stuffed to the brim with volumes of varying size, shape and age, interspaced with tall, picture windows. The late afternoon light streaming in through the glass washes the whole room in a serene, comfortable gold.

After a moment of observation, he realizes that Ignis is looking pointedly between Prompto and the table. Prompto takes the hint and picks a chair at random, shrugging off his backpack as he drops heavily into it.

“So, um, what are we doing here?”

Ignis closes the door with a soft click behind him and takes the seat opposite Prompto. The advisor folds his hands together on the table, meeting Prompto with a serious look. “I'll be frank with you Prompto, you're doing badly in school. So, from now on, once a week, I’d like you to meet with me for two hours for tutoring. Gladio has already agreed to open up some time in his schedule later at night, so you'll still be able to train.

“That's, um...” Prompto feels entirely taken aback; of all the things he was expecting today, this wasn't one of them. “I mean, yeah I'm not doing great in school right now and not to be rude or anything, but why would you help me?”

“Noctis has expressed his concern about the possibility of you failing to graduate at the end of the year.”

He winces internally at that, knowing the statement has more than just a grain of truth, but soldiers on anyway. “That still doesn't answer my question. Why you, of all people? Why would you care whether I fail out or not?”

“The prince's concerns are almost always my concerns as well.” Ignis adjusts his glasses, not taking his stern gaze from Prompto's face. Then the advisor smiles softly as if to undercut the seriousness of his tone. “No one's forcing you, but I do hope you'll accept the help.”

“Of course!” Prompto answers a little louder than he means to, wanting to make it clear that he is, at the very least, extremely appreciative. And more than little surprised. There's a warmth in his chest that he can't quite identify and he fights the urge to get up and hug Ignis. It's undeniable, incontrovertible truth; Noctis really does care about him. Prompto thinks if he had a little less dignity, he might cry in happiness. As it is, he settles for a smile.

Ignis smiles briefly back at him before his face sets itself into a look of business that’s not unlike his school teachers. “Now,” he says, “I need you to be honest with me, how many of your classes are you failing.”

Prompto drops his gaze to the polished surface of the table, fighting the urge to slide out his seat entirely. “Two.”

“Which ones?”

“History and math. I’ve never been very good at either. It’s just, this new training regimen is taking a lot out of me. I guess I haven’t been as focused as I should be on school.”

“We’ll work on those subject then, each week, until you bring your grades up. There’s still plenty of time before the school year ends. I took the liberty of looking up your grades from previous years. If you’re able to raise your grades, I think you stand a decent chance at getting into a good university for next year. Which ones are you planning to apply to?”

For a moment, Prompto just stares at Ignis, not sure if the man is serious is not. When Ignis continues his level gaze, Prompto slowly shakes his head and says, “I can’t afford university. My grades are nowhere near good enough for a full ride and my living assistance stops when I graduate high school.”

“Then what are you planning to do after graduation?”

“I dunno. Probably the military, it makes the most sense. 

Ignis pauses and takes a deep breath. Prompto gets the distinct feeling that the advisor is choosing his next words very carefully. “Prompto, I want you to know that I would never dissuade you from joining the military if it was truly what you wished to do, but I will be honest with you. Given Lucis’ current relationship with Niflheim, joining now would make you little more than cannon fodder. I believe that you have potential, and Noctis is quite fond of you.”

Prompto can’t help his sudden, wide-eyed stare. “So, you think-“

“I think it would be a terrible waste of potential.” Ignis pauses for a moment, then his face brightens a bit. “Have you considered the Crownsguard? Of course, you have nowhere near enough training to be a part of his majesty’s guard, but if you work hard, you could qualify for Noct’s in a few years.”

Prompto tries unsuccessfully to hide his snort of laughter. “In case you haven’t noticed Ignis, I’m a commoner. I spend way more time in the palace than I ever thought I would, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m just a regular citizen. I’m not like you and Gladio.”

“There have been exceptions, in the past.”

“I’m not exactly the kind of guy people make exceptions for.”  
“Then what exactly is all your training with Gladio for, Prompto? What are you hoping to get out of it?”

“I just, I wanted-“

Prompto fidgets uncomfortably in the following silence, scrubbing his hands through his hair. His head is filling with the familiar stress that always plagues him when he starts to think about the future. In truth, he has no clue what he’s going to do; he just knows that he needs to figure it out soon. Ignis finally takes pity on him.

“We don’t need to discuss the matter anymore today. But do put some thought to it. Now, how about we begin with your math homework.”

Prompto is so relieved to be off subject of his future that he barely minds switching to his least favorite schoolwork. In short order, he has his papers and textbook spread across the dark wood table.

It’s nearly an hour before Ignis is satisfied with Prompto’s work and, loathe though he is to admit it, Prompto does feel slightly better about the upcoming test material. When Ignis suggests they move on to history, Prompto pulls a face that Ignis ignores.

“You and Noctis share the same history class. I assume you have a paper due next week on the history of the Lucian crystal as well?” Prompto nods affirmation. “Well, I can think of no better place to write about the crystal than in the royal palace.”

“Because it’s kept here?”

“Yes, can you feel it?”

Prompto tilts his head to one side, confused at Ignis’ question. “What do you mean, feel it?”

“A select few can sense the crystal. Mostly those who have been touched with Lucian royal magic, but occasionally others as well. The Glaive, for instance, Gladio and myself, and of course Noctis and King Regis.

Prompto tilts his head even further to the side, as if that’s the key to sensing the crystal, but of course it’s not. He doesn’t feel anything out of the ordinary at all. He’s not surprised in the least; after all, he is just a commoner. “What’s it feel like?”

“It’s hard to describe. Almost a sort of… humming presence, always in the back of your mind, but not intrusive, just comforting. I suppose that would be the word I’d use.” Ignis shakes his head, as if to clear it of the thought. “Why don’t we start on that paper. I believe there’s some books in here about the crystal that might be of some use.”

The paper takes even longer than the math homework had. Ignis, it turns out, is incredibly picky, forcing Prompto to edit and rewrite, and edit again until Prompto wants to scream. By the time they’re done, he’s fairly sure there’s no way his teacher will possibly believe that he wrote the paper; it’s far too good compared to his usual work. 

Prompto is just leaving the library, one hand on the solid, wooden door, mind already set on the training session he has with Gladio next, when he suddenly remembers.

“Ignis,” he says, turning back to face the table, where the advisor is tidying up the last of the papers. “I really appreciate the help, but I can’t afford to pay you a tutoring fee.”

“Well then, I suppose it’s a good thing I wasn’t planning to charge you one.”

“Oh, good. I can barely afford to pay Gladio as it is.”

Ignis’ eyes darken with some unreadable emotion so briefly that Prompto isn’t sure he didn’t imagine it. “Gladio is charging you?”

“For my training, yeah.”

“Interesting. I’ll see you next week for our next session.”

Prompto, who recognizes a dismissal when he sees it, doesn’t pry further, though he does remain curious for most of the walk back to the training room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love quality time with Ignis.


	8. Chapter 8

“Wow.”

Prompto knows he probably looks like an idiot, standing there staring, mouth wide open, but it’s too overwhelming for him to care. He hears a snort of laughter from somewhere behind him that helps to bring him back to his senses. He clamps his mouth shut and surreptitiously swipes a hand across his chin to make sure he hasn’t drooled. “Wow,” he repeats again. 

“it is impressive,” Gladio responds from the where he’s leaning casually on the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over his chest. 

“Where’d it all come from?” 

Prompto tries his hardest to keep the wonder out of his tone, but it’s difficult, because he’s staring at the largest collection of weapons he has ever seen in his life. They’re standing in a room that more closely resembles a small warehouse, and it’s packed to the brim with everything a fighter could ever want. There’s swords, both one-handed and two-handed, daggers, throwing knives, polearms, shields, crossbows, spears, lances and a plethora of other things he can’t even recognize, let alone name. 

“It’s mostly leftovers.”

“Hmm?” Prompto tears his eyes off the all-consuming sight that is this massive collection and trains them on Gladio. For a second, he can’t remember what question Gladio is even answering, he’s so distracted. Then it hits him. “Leftovers?”

Gladio nods as he looks around the room, taking it all in with calm amber eyes. “Leftovers,” he confirms. “Stuff that isn’t good enough for official use, but not bad enough to just throw away. So there’s a little bit of everything in here. Regular enlisted weapons, practice swords, old Crownsguard stuff. I think there’s even some Glaive knives somewhere around here.”

Prompto returns his wide-eyed stare to the room. “And you want me to…?”

“Pick something.”

“Pick something, right,” Prompto mutters, not particularly quietly. “How am I supposed to do that? I don’t even know where to start.”

Gladio gives him a particularly unhelpful shrug, something that looks suspiciously like the beginnings of a smile on his lips. “Just find something that calls to you. I mean, I could teach you to be at least familiar with a bunch of different weapons, but I think it’s better to pick one thing and specialize in it. So pick something.”

The thought crosses Prompto’s mind that he should be more excited; he’s finally gotten good enough at hand-to-hand that Gladio has seen fit to move him on to a weapon, but his mind is too caught up in this seemingly impossible task. There are hundreds, if not thousands of choices in here. He takes a deep breath. He’s faced down tasks far more daunting; he can do this. 

The first thing he picks is a sword, plucking it from the shelf it’s been sitting on. It’s shorter and wider than other swords he’s seen, and the weight of it surprises him. The hilt feels awkward in his hands as he gives it a few practice swings, feeling self-conscious about how ridiculous he’s sure he looks. It doesn’t take him more than a minute to know that this isn’t the weapon for him, so he shelves it again and looks around for something else. 

He tries a broad two-handed sword that’s almost half his height next. He can barely lift it from its perch, and swinging it is a lost cause entirely. He doesn’t look, but he can practically feel the amusement rolling off Gladio is waves, and he appreciates that the man at least holds in his laughter. Next is a pair of daggers; they’re long enough to almost be very short swords, and they make him think fondly of Ignis. The weight of them feels good in his hands and he sets them to the side as a definite maybe.

Prompto makes his way through his next selections in quick succession. There’s a sword with a wicked curve to it that makes him feel ridiculous, a spear that reaches at least a foot above his head, and a large shield with a sharp, cutting edge and spiky protuberances covering its surface. Nothing feels quite good enough and he sighs and mentally resigns himself to the daggers, thinking that at least he’ll be able to get some good tips from Ignis, when something catches his eye off to the side. 

It’s a gun; simple silver and black with no decoration or frills. Prompto moves to pick it up his breath catches a little in his chest at how right it feels in his hands. He cradles it in one hand, running the fingers of his other hand lightly across the cool surface, then wraps both hands the butt of the gun and points it out to the ground in front of him. 

“Very nice.”

Prompto jumps, the gun swinging wide and coming to a stop pointed at Gladio. Prompto had been so absorbed he hadn’t even heard the big man approaching. Gladio gives him a serious look and pushes the barrel of the gun back towards the ground. “Lesson number one,” he says, “never point a gun at anything you aren’t prepared to kill.”

Prompto gulps and looks quickly between the gun clutched in his hands and Gladio’s stern face. He starts to apologize but the older man waves it off. 

“It’s a good idea. You’re definitely fast and you’ve got a lot of stamina. Something with a little range to it could give you a big advantage in a fight.”

“You think so?”

“For sure,” Gladio says as he nods his approval. “It would take years for to really master a sword, but I think with a gun you could learn a lot in a pretty short amount of time. If you’re any good,” he adds with a smile.

After grabbing their things, Gladio leads him to an indoor range. It’s a good ten minute walk from the main palace, but still on royal grounds. For safety, Gladio explains. It wouldn’t do to have people practicing shooting where there are too many people. 

It’s not empty, as Prompto had hoped it would be. The thought of learning something new in front of people he doesn’t know is intimidating, so he’s secretly relieved when Gladio leads him to the end of the range, as far away from anyone else as he can get them. 

The range is simple, a long, unfinished wood countertop running the length of the room, with rough wooden walls dividing the counter into private cubicles. Past the counter, on the opposite wall is a line of targets, and a simple pulley system hangs overhead.

Gladio wastes no time, and quickly shows Prompto how to work the pulleys toward them, attach a paper target, and send it off to the back wall. The older man pops the magazine out of the gun with a click and, after rummaging through some shelving on the side, comes back with a box of ammunition. He demonstrates how to load a bullet into the cartridge, and then lets Prompto add the rest. The feel of the bullets clicking into place is amazing; the rush he’s feeling is indescribable. They haven’t even started, he’s never even fired a gun before, but somehow he just knows that this is what he was made for. 

He realizes with a flush of embarrassment that Gladio has been talking to him the entire time and is now waving a pair of thick, clear plastic glasses in front of him with a slightly annoyed look on his face. “Sorry,” Prompto says earnestly, taking the eyewear from Gladio’s hand. He really didn’t mean to lose his focus.

“Now that you’re paying attention.” Gladio’s voice is hard, but by this point Prompto’s spent enough time around the man to know that it’s not cruel, just serious. “Eye protection,” he says, pointing at the glasses. He hands a pair of bulky, over-the-head earphones to him next. “Ear protection. Always, always, use both of these when you’re practicing. You don’t want to go deaf before you’re forty or catch a piece of hot brass to the eye. Do you know how to aim a gun?”

Prompto shakes his head and all of the sudden Gladio is there, leaning over his shoulder, so close that Prompto can feel the heat of his chest as it nearly pushes against his back. “Here,” Gladio says, reaching over to guide Prompto’s hand, still holding the gun, up to eye level. “These are your sights.” He indicates a little nub of metal, sticking up on the barrel of the gun. “There’s two in the back and one in the front. You just line them up and point them at what you want to shoot.”

Gladio’s hand closes over Prompto’s as he shows the blonde how to adjust the handgun, lining the sights up with both each other and the distant target. Prompto swallows nervously. He can feel blood rushing in his ears and it takes everything in him to pay attention to the lesson Gladio’s giving him.

“You think you’ve got the general idea?” 

Prompto nods again, apparently struck dumb by the proximity of his teacher. His throat feels unbearably dry. Thankfully, Gladio moves away and Prompto shivers from the chill brought on by the sudden lack of body heat against him.

“Good.” Gladio smiles at him, one his genuine smiles that’s usually reserved for when Prompto lands a punch, or finally gets a particularly hard move correct. He continues talking before Prompto can get too carried away with his thoughts, showing him how to load the magazine into the gun and chamber the first bullet. 

And then it’s go time. Prompto slips the glasses over his eyes and both he and Gladio don pairs of the noise-muffling headphones. Up until this point, Prompto had been nervous. What if he makes a total failure of himself? But, staring down the barrel of the gun, focus laser sharp, he finds himself suddenly calm. It’s almost like when he’s running; the world around him slips away and there’s just the comforting feel of the metal in his hands and the squint of his eyes as he sizes up the target. He squeezes the trigger once, and the gun bucks a little in his hands. He controls the kickback and hears the little ping of the spent bullet casing hitting the ground. He readjusts his aim and shoots again and again, twelve times in total, until the clip is empty.

He sets the gun down on the countertop with a feeling of reluctance. He doesn’t want to leave the calm void he’s discovered; he knows the second he does all his usual anxiety will return full force. He can hear Gladio talking to him, muffled by the headphones he’s still wearing. Pulling them off, he just catches the tail end.

“….looked really good. Very steady aim for a beginner.”

Prompto can’t help himself; he grins, feeling oddly proud of himself. Gladio pulls the target in and unclips it, holding it up for inspection. Prompto’s stomach drops. He had felt so good about it and he’s disappointed to see all of his shots have missed the center by a good inch and a half.

“Damn, I thought I did better than that, at least.”

Gladio shakes his head, pointing at the tightly clustered circle of tears in the paper. “You did really good Prompto. See how all the shots are together? The grouping is really good. It means you’re consistent. Your sights could probably stand to be adjusted. Put up a new target while I work on the sights.”

Prompto happily complies, taking a moment to internally bask in Gladio’s praise. He doesn’t hand it out often, and the knowledge that he had done well fills Prompto with a warm, happy glow. 

It’s late by the time they finally stop. Prompto’s gone through half a box of ammunition and several more targets and his hand is starting to shake with the unfamiliar exertion. Each round he had improved, and had even landed a handful of shots on the bullseye. Between his success and Gladio’s earlier praise, Prompto can’t help but grin as they clean up their things and leave the range, stepping out into the rapidly dimming twilight. 

“Oh,” he cries, suddenly remembering. “Before I forget…” Prompto reaches for his wallet and is in the process of pulling out some bills when Gladio’s hand shoots out to push them away.

“Um, no, it’s fine. No more money.”

Prompto freezes, fingers still clutched tight around a bill that’s yanked halfway out of his wallet, and brings his eyes up to glance at Gladio’s face. To his sheer amazement, the man is actually blushing. There’s red staining his cheeks and the tips of his ears and he looks almost guilty, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“I don’t under-“

Gladio brings one big hand up to the back of his neck, ruffling his dark brown hair in an almost nervous way. He can’t quite seem to look Prompto in the eyes. “No more money,” he says again, more firmly this time. 

“But why-“ This time it’s not Gladio who cuts him off, but rather a loud, embarrassing gurgle of his own stomach. For a second he wants to be mortified, but Gladio chuckles and it’s a nice, soft sound so Prompto smiles back at him and laughs a little too. They hold each other’s gaze a little longer than is necessary, and Gladio seems to be struggling to pick his words. Prompto is astounded. He’s not sure exactly what’s going on, but it’s more than a little disconcerting to see Gladio so flustered.

Finally, after what seems like ages, Gladio sighs. “Do you want to go get dinner. With me?”

“Tonight?” Prompto resists the urge to do a double-take. Gladio nods and Prompto swallows down a huge knot of butterflies that seem to have taken up residence in his chest cavity. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am excited for the coming chapters!


	9. Chapter 9

They end up at a burger joint just a few minutes down the road from the range. It’s even in the same direction as Prompto’s apartment, which is nice, since he won’t have to double back when it’s time to walk home. The shop is brightly fluorescent and just a little bit loud and the anonymity of it soothes Prompto’s nerves. He’s not sure he would have been able to handle anything more intimate, at the moment.

They order at the counter and Prompto experiences a brief moment of absolute panic when it comes time to pay. Does he pay? Does Gladio pay? If Gladio pays for his dinner, then what does that make… whatever this is? In the end, he opts for coughing loudly into his hand to cover up his embarrassed mumbling and shoves what he thinks might be around the correct amount toward the cashier. Gladio looks slightly put out by this action, but he doesn’t say anything; he just follows behind Prompto with a disgruntled expression and pays for his own food and really, that does nothing whatsoever to help Prompto decipher what exactly it is the two of them are doing here. Is this a- no, he doesn’t even want to think it. He’s not sure he could look himself in the mirror if this is all just him blowing stuff out of proportion, so he squashes that thought back into its box in the box in the closet in the darkest corner of his mind where it belongs.

They get their food and Gladio sits them down at to a table that’s relatively out the way, tucked into the corner as much as it can be in the bright, open space of the restaurant. Prompto barely has time to worry about how to fill the inevitable awkward silences that seem to follow him around like a plague before Gladio’s raising an appraising eyebrow at his tray and asking, “Is that really all you’re gonna eat?”

Oh.

And while this is definitely not a conversation he had expected or wanted to have tonight, he just shrugs it off. The last few years have put enough of a buffer between him and the shame he used to feel at his own body that talking about it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. Mostly. He takes a bite of his veggie burger (that he’s ordered without any fries, because it’s not a cheat day) and says, "I’m pretty careful about what I eat. I used to be really fat.”

“You?” Gladio doesn’t seem to even try to hide the surprised look that darts across his face, or the full-body glance he gives Prompto immediately after. “I’ve thrown you across a room while we’re sparring. I’m pretty sure even sopping wet you weigh less than my sword.”

Prompto snorts back a laugh. “Believe me. I have pictures, I can prove it. No-“ he continues, preemptively cutting Gladio off before he has the chance to even think about it, “-I will not show you the pictures. But I do have them.”

“Hmmm. Well, I think you’re good the way you look now.”

Prompto quickly takes another bite of his burger to hide his gaping stare. He’s just been given a Gladio compliment, and while he’s been on the receiving end of a few of these before, each one is bright and precious and he wants to savor it fully before his anxiety can ruin it for him. He chews with perhaps more force than is necessary and ducks his head to avoid looking at Gladio’s eyes. Not that it matters; he’s stolen enough glances of them during practices to recreate them perfectly in his mind.

“Why’d you do it?”

“I got tired of being fat.”

He thinks Gladio might have just rolled his eyes at him, but he’s not completely sure. “I mean your motivation. I’ve been a trainer for years. I’ve worked with a lot of different people, but the one thing that never changes is motivation. You either have it or you don’t. It’s impossible to fake it.”

Prompto can’t argue with that assessment; it’s something he’s found to be true himself countless times throughout the years. Like on those days when his body is tired and on the verge of collapse, and the sheer force of his will is the only thing holding him together. Especially on those days. 

“Well, to be honest, it was actually because of Noctis.”

“Noctis? Really?”

“Yeah.” Prompto nods emphatically. “We were both a lot younger, not even in high school yet. I knew I wanted to be his friend, but I was just so uncomfortable with myself, you know? I didn’t think I could possibly be good enough the way I was. I mean- he’s the prince, right?” Gladio raises an eyebrow and Prompto shrugs, continuing, “So I changed everything. Started eating better, running, and eventually I lost the weight and introduced myself. It worked. I’m consider myself really lucky to have him as a friend.”

Prompto takes a moment to catch his breath; he’s not sure, but he thinks that may be the most words he’s said all at once to the man before. Gladio levels him with an inscrutable stare, equal parts appraising and strangely tender and a vast mix of other emotions Prompto can’t identify.

“He’s lucky to have you as a friend too.”

Prompto truly has no idea how to respond to that, so he takes a big drink of water instead. Gladio, for once, seems to sense the awkward lull in conversation and changes subjects quickly.

“You know, I used to think Noctis was a total jackass.”

Prompto sputters a bit, resisting the urge to completely spit the water out of his mouth. “What?”

“When he was younger, like around eleven or twelve. I hated teaching him, I thought he was a complete brat. Of course, that was around the age where I thought I was some hot shit, thank the Gods I grew out of that eventually.”

“Did you?”

“Anyway-“ Gladio pointedly ignores Prompto’s teasing, while the blonde chuckles quietly to himself. “I couldn’t stand him.”

“What changed?”

“He helped my sister, once.” Gladio smiles faintly, as if gazing at some far-off memory only he could see. “Took the fall for her, so she wouldn’t get into trouble.”

“Iris? I met her, at your house. She seems really nice!”

Gladio nodded and his face brightened visibly, as if just the mention of his sister made his day that much better. And really, if that’s what it’s going to take to make him smile like that, Prompto will gladly spend the rest of dinner talking about Iris. “Yeah, and she’s shaping up to be a kick-ass fighter, too.” Prompto can see the adoration in Gladio’s eyes, and damn, if it isn’t the cutest thing he’s ever seen. It knocks him off his feet mentally for a moment and he struggles to come back to the conversation.

“So she’s good, huh?”

“Really good. She’s getting older now, and I’m really hoping she intimidates the boys too much for any of them to start asking her out. I’m not ready to give the shovel talk to any hormonal teenage boys yet.”

Prompto resists the urge to point at that Gladio is, at this very moment, talking to a hormonal teenage boy. But this is the most they’ve ever talked about anything not involving guns or the proper way to throw a punch, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“How long has she been training?”

Gladio laughs at the question, but it’s just amused, not cruel. “Same as me, since before she could even walk properly. It’s part of the territory that comes with being an Amicitia. It’s just what our family does.”

“What’s that like?”

“Intense.” Gladio seems to ponder the question for a minute before continuing. “My dad is the King’s shield, and I’ve known I would be Noct’s shield from the day I was born. Hell, I learned how to hold a sword at the age where most babies are still figuring out they have hands. It was a toy sword, but you get the picture.”

Prompto does get the picture, even if it pains him slightly to do so. “That seems like a lot of pressure.”

Gladio shrugs. “I don’t resent it, or anything, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s just the way it was. Besides, all those years of work have made me extremely good at what I do, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted, to be good at my job.”

“You are.” When Gladio shoots him a consternate stare, he quickly follows up with, “Good, I mean. Great.”

Gladio exhales a small laugh and says gruffly, “Thanks.”

“Do you think I’ll ever be that good?” Prompto asks. He’s half-kidding and half-serious as he muses over the question. He’s never felt particularly good enough for anything; he’s not sure he’d even know what to do with the feeling if he had it.

Gladio laughs, a real one this time, and it’s a warm, comforting sound. “Well, I’ve got a few years on you, but with enough practice, you’ll be great. You’ve already really surprised me with how quickly you’re improving.”

“Really?” Prompto feels a broad grin split his face, and he watches as that look, the one he can’t quite decipher, flits across Gladio’s expression.

“Really,” Gladio assures him, and there’s a pause before suddenly, unbelievably, Gladio is reaching his hand across the table to rest lightly on one of Prompto’s own. His hand is rough and calloused from years of swinging a sword, and so large it practically engulfs Prompto’s beneath it. Gladio takes a deep breath and Prompto leans forward slightly, enraptured by the touch and the low, breathy sound of his sigh.

And then, from behind him he hears a horribly familiar voice call out, “Prompto! Gladio!”

Gladio immediately snatches his hand back like he’s laid it on a hot iron, while Prompto whips quickly around to the front of the restaurant, where Noctis and Ignis are making their way through the tables toward them. Prompto pretends to miss the almost apologetic look that Ignis shoot Gladio over the prince’s head. 

“Hey guys,” Noctis says, coming to a stop beside their table. “Didn’t know you were gonna be here. Mind if we join you?”

Gladio, it seems, has been stunned into momentary paralysis, hand balled up in a loose fist on the tabletop, eyes wide and cagey. Prompto waves acquiescence for the both of them as the two men pull up chairs. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks curiously. He’s a little put out that they’ve been interrupted because whatever had been about to happen had felt like a pretty important step in the sort of non-relationship that he and Gladio have going. But this is Noctis and Prompto won’t begrudge him anything, not even a friendly attitude when he’s so clearly shown up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“I, uh, tried to cook.” Noctis at least has the good sense to look ashamed, while Ignis lets out a small, tired sigh and Gladio winces.

“I know how that usually goes,” Gladio says, looking at Ignis with pity. “You okay?”

“Well fortunately, we both escaped with our lives,” Ignis says drily. “The kitchen didn’t fare so well, I’m afraid.”

His delivery is so deadpan that for a moment Prompto’s not sure if he’s joking or not, but Noctis and Gladio laugh, so he does too. Prompto dwells for a moment on the ever-evolving enigma that is Ignis before moving on with the knowledge that he will never fully figure the advisor out.

“So,” Noctis says, turning to Prompto, “how did training go today?”

Prompto is more than happy to launch into a detailed description of his newfound love for firearms while they eat. The rest of the meal passes quickly enough and he’s already agreed to Noctis’ friendly insistence on a ride home before he realizes how distinctly disgruntled Gladio looks. He’s not sure what to do to fix it, so he offers Gladio a weak smile, which his trainer barely returns as they walk out of the restaurant.

The entire drive home, Prompto wonders what Gladio had been going to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noctis: prince... friend... unintentional cockblock


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle in kids, this is the longest chapter yet.

“Is Gladio mad at me or something?”

“Hmm?” Noctis looks up in surprise, tearing his attention away from the phone in his hands. School has just let out, and the pair of them are waiting in the parking lot for Ignis to come pick up the prince. “I don’t think so. At least, I haven’t heard anything. Why are you asking?”

Prompto chews nervously on his lower lip, running a shoe over a crumbled bit of asphalt. “I don’t know. He’s just been weird since our-“ He barely catches the word ‘date’ before it tumbles carelessly out of his mouth. “-since last week.” 

At the time, he had hesitated to even think of the dinner in terms of a date. Now, after a week of stilted conversation and awkward silence, he has no clue what to think anymore. Prompto had thought they’d had a nice time. Gladio, it seemed, did not agree.

Noctis cocks his head to the side, a frown spreading across his features. “How so?”

“You know.” Prompto waves a hand in the air, as if to illustrate his point. “He’s just been weird. Not to mention, way more of a hard-ass than normal. Yesterday, he had me taking my gun apart and putting it back together again until my hands went numb. I’m pretty sure I could build it in my sleep now.”

Noctis’ frown deepens as he shrugs his shoulders. “He’s not mad, that I know of. Then again, it’s not like he’d necessarily tell me if he was. I can ask Ignis if you’d like. He’d probably know.”

“Nah, it’s not that big of a deal,” Prompto replies quickly, shaking his head. The thought of dragging yet another person into this is mortifying, especially when he’s not sure that there’s even a problem to begin with. He’s still hoping he’ll get lucky, and this whole situation will have just been a byproduct of his over-active anxiety.

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know,” Noctis says, tucking his phone into his pocket as the tinted black palace car pulls into the school parking lot. 

“I will,” Prompto replies with forced enthusiasm. He already know he won’t.

“Oh, Prompto-“ 

Noctis turns back toward him, as if he’s forgotten something. Prompto opens his mouth, but before he can say anything Noctis is on him. He realizes after a second that the prince is hugging him, snaking his arms underneath Prompto’s bag to wrap tightly around his torso. Noctis’ hands are splayed out on Prompto’s upper back and he bites back a gasp at how icy they are. The cold seeps its way through his school jacket and the thin material of his t-shirt, sinking into his skin like ice water. Prompto shivers as the sensation seems to travel down his spine and pool at the base of it.

“What-“

“See you tomorrow!” 

And just like that, Noctis turns and runs to the waiting car, disappearing into it before Prompto has the chance to finish his question. The unnatural cold on Prompto’s skin seems to have disappeared with the absence of the prince’s hands. Another shiver wracks his body anyway.

The strange hug preoccupies his mind so much that the sight of the palace nearly takes him by surprise. His feet must have taken him on automatic. He’s snapped cruelly back to reality as he stumbles over a cracked bit of pavement, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over him. He presses a hand to his temple, trying to quell the sudden ringing in his ears. His head is buzzing unbearably, a deep thrum that threatens to worm its way into his very bones.

He shakes his head viciously, shoving the discomfort as far back as he can manage. He has a lesson to get to; after all, this is one of Gladio’s rules. He has to train no matter how he feels. He can do this.

He manages to make it to the usual room with minimal faltering. The buzzing and ringing fade to background noise and the dizziness subsides a little more with every step. In fact, as he drops his bag and walk to the middle the room to the meet Gladio, he feels almost normal.

Prompto smiles in greeting, hoping to get today off to a good start. His trainer grumbles something that may have been a reply under his breath, refusing to meet his eyes. Prompto sighs internally. He doesn’t even know what he did wrong, much less how to fix it. He wishes fervently that they could go back to the easy friendship they had begun to develop before. Maybe it’s his own fault. Maybe he assumed too much and now he’s made Gladio uncomfortable. He really, really hopes that’s not the case.

“You ready?” He nods and Gladio continues in a gruff voice. “Sit.”

Prompto folds his long legs beneath him, sinking into a cross-legged position on the mats. He starts to reach for his toes to pull himself into his normal warm up stretches, when Gladio stops him.

“We’re doing something a little different today.”

“Oh?” Prompto says, straightening up and casting a curious glance towards his trainer.

Gladio nods. “Today, you’re going to learn how to summon a weapon.”

Prompto’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, so high they nearly disappear beneath his bangs. “Um,” he begins uncertainly. For the first time in a week, Gladio has spoken to him without mumbling and he’s actually meeting his gaze. Prompto really, really doesn’t want to ruin this moment, but…

“I can’t do that. I’m just a-“

“Noctis should have taken care of that.”

“Huh?”

And suddenly, his mind races back to that unexpected hug and the bizarre cold of the prince’s hands, and the ringing and buzzing and dizziness that’s been plaguing him since he came within distance of the palace.

“So that’s what…” he trails off, eyes wide and comprehending.

Gladio nods, and something that could almost be a smile plays at the corner of his lips. The sight warms Prompto’s heart. “You should be able to feel it. Can you?”

Prompto frowns and closes his eyes, concentrating on the buzzing. He sees now; it’s warm and comforting, weighing him down like a well-loved blanket. He nods slowly. “It’s strange.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“So, Noctis…?”

“Gave you some of his magic. Think of it like a loan. You need a little bit to summon and banish weapons. It’s what the Glaive and the Crownsguard use.”

“And me?”

“And you.” 

There’s a real smile this time, and then suddenly, Gladio’s face slips back into that same sullen, stony countenance it’s held all the week as the man drops down to sit across from him. Prompto tries to ignore how the man has angled his body to be as closed off from him as possible. 

“Here.” He pulls something from his pocket and tosses it lightly to Prompto, who catches it in one hand. 

It’s a coin, the metal still warm from being in Gladio’s pocket. Prompto holds it up to the light, turning it over, examining it closely; he can’t find anything remarkable about it.

“What’s this for?” he finally concedes.

“You have to start with something small and relatively uncomplicated. You definitely don’t want to start with a weapon. Chances are it would get ruined.”

“Ruined?”

“You’ll see. Now do you want to learn or do you want to talk?”

Prompto flushes in embarrassment, dropping his gaze to the ground and gripping the coin tightly in one hand. He nods silently.

“Close your eyes.” Prompto does as he says, eyelashes ghosting across his cheeks. “Can you find Noct’s magic?”

Prompto furrows his eyebrows in concentration, eyes clenching shut tight. He thinks maybe he can feel it, that strange, cold ball of energy in his core. It’s there in his mind, ethereal blue and sparking softly. He nods again.

“Alright,” Gladio’s voice reaches his ears, the tone now low and oddly comforting, guiding him. “Now I need you to wrap the coin with it. Connect it, so that you can feel the coin even if you’re not holding it.”

Prompto rolls the coin between his fingers hesitantly, committing the ridges and bumps on the warm metal to memory. He reaches out in his mind and pulls at the ball of light, teasing out a shining blue thread. He wraps it around the coin, then does the same with strand after strand, until the entirety of it is covered with a warm, blue radiance. 

“Do you have it?”

Prompto opens his eyes, nodding an affirmation. The coin sits in his open hand, startlingly normal. He had half-expected it to the glowing, but it doesn’t matter. He knows he was successful; he can feel like the coin like it’s a part of him, like it’s attached to something deep within himself. 

“Got it.”

“Good. That’s the easy part. Now you’re going to banish it.” Prompto closes his eyes again, waiting on Gladio’s instructions. “You need somewhere to store your weapons. It helps to picture it as something familiar, something you’re comfortable with. I use an old chest from my family home that my father used to store my practice swords in when I was younger. Do you have something in mind?”

Prompto nods. “The closet in my apartment.” It’s as familiar a place as he can think of; he’s lived there a long time, so it will have to do.

“Alright, now take the coin and put it in the closet.”

Prompto screws up his face in effort. His jaw clamps shut and his head hurts. He’s starting to sweat. Gladio was right; this part is infinitely harder. Nothing he does seems to work. He goes through every possible scenario in his head, pictures the task every way he can think of, but the coin remains in his palm, a steady weight. After what seems like forever, he opens his eyes in silent defeat. Exhaustion flows through him, along with the feeling that he’s straining a muscle he’s never even used.

“Do it again.” Gladio’s voice is pitiless and Prompto glares at him, annoyed. Surely, he can see how worn out he is. Gladio just glares back. “Again.”

Prompto screws his eyes shut again, mumbling under his breath. Gladio can probably hear him; he doesn’t particularly care.

There’s the closet in his mind, the knob twisting open like it’s already done so many times before. And there’s the coin, shining with an otherworldly blue light. He reaches out, placing the small object carefully on the shelf and closes the door with a flick of his wrist. And just like in sparring, his anger seems to have spurred him on to greater heights. He gasps in surprise and his eyes fly open, gaze trained on his now-empty palm.

“Where- where did it go?” he asks, dazed. His chest heaves like he’s just run a marathon.

Gladio snorts in amusement. “You’re asking the wrong person. I don’t know how it works, or why, just that it does. You feel okay?”

Prompto draws a shaky breath, taking a quick assessment. He’s dizzy and there’s the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind his eyes. Nothing he can’t deal with. “Yeah,” he finally answers.

“Okay then, now try to bring it back.”

He’s got the feel for it now; knows what to do. The knob to the closet is twisting open before his eyes are even fully closed. The coin is right where he left it, shining brightly, illuminating the small space. He reaches out and grips it in one hand. 

Pain lances through his head, blinding white and hot and all consuming.

 

 

He comes to slowly, aware of something soft beneath his head and a round piece of metal held loosely in his hand. He rolls his head to the side as he opens his fingers. The coin is there, but it’s wrong. The markings have all disappeared, and now it’s just a flat, round disc of metal. Oh. So, that’s what Gladio had meant. He’ll have to work on that. He buries his face further into the soft material beneath it, realizing with shock that it’s Gladio’s jacket. The cloth is warm, and smells of soap and cologne. The room swims in front of his eyes.

He has a few moments of blissful quiet before his stomach twists horribly and he bolts into an upright position. Someone has helpfully placed and empty trash can next to him, and he grabs it, hugging it to his chest as he expels the contents of his stomach. After a few horrible, choking minutes, his stomach is empty and he’s reduced to dry heaves.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

Gladio’s voice is quiet, kinder than it’s been in a week. The big man squats down across from him, a sympathetic look on his face. Prompto hugs the trash can tighter to his chest. “You could have warned me.

‘I could’ve,” Gladio agrees. “But then you wouldn’t have put your all into it.” Prompto groans loudly to voice his displeasure. “If it makes you feel any better, you took it was better than Ignis his first time.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, he was green for a week. Can you stand?”

Prompto’s honestly not sure of the answer to that question. His stomach bubbles unpleasantly and the headache that had been threatening earlier has now arrived in full force. Somehow, he gets both legs beneath him and attempts to stand. The world lurches violently on its axis, and his knees hit the mats. He clutches wildly for the trash can as he wracked with another bout of nausea, bringing up nothing but bile this time.

Suddenly there’s a soothing hand on his back, rubbing slow circles into his shoulders. He should be rejoicing at the touch, especially now with how strained things have been between the two of them. At the moment though, he’s too miserable to feel anything other than a passing fondness.

“You think you’re done throwing up?” Gladio asks. Prompto nods as much as he can, trying to keep his head as still as possible to keep the room from spinning further. “I’m gonna get you home, okay?”

There’s a strong arm under his shoulders and another wrapped around his waist, pulling him gently to his feet. Prompto keeps his eyes shut and manages to walk, guided by Gladio’s firm grip. The quiet warmth of him does wonders for keeping the nausea at bay.

The ride home is torture, and if he were feeling any better, he knows he would be mortified at his clinging neediness and tiny whimpers as the car navigates bumps and dips in the road. But he’s feeling like crap; he can’t even bring himself to care when Gladio digs his key out of his wallet for him, barely registering the fact that Gladio’s hand was in Prompto’s pocket just moments before. 

Gladio, to his credit, doesn’t mock him once during the whole long and painful process. He’s all quiet strength and comforting support as he helps Prompto haul his tired body through his apartment, and deposits him on his bed, still wearing all his clothes.

“Well then, I guess I’ll, um, see you tomorrow. Bye.” Gladio sounds strangely uncertain as he looks down at Prompto from over his bed. They haven’t bothered to turn on the lamp, and the streetlight filtering through the curtains throws his face into shadows, dark and beautiful. Prompto’s exhaustion makes him delirious and reckless. Before he can stop himself, he darts out a hand, snagging Gladio’s forearm.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks quietly.

“What?”

“Because you’ve been acting like it for a week.”

Gladio sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks as tired as Prompto feels. “No, I’m not mad at you. I’m… annoyed, with myself. I misinterpreted some things and got my wires crossed and I feel really stupid about it. I’m sorry though, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It’s not your fault.”

Something clicks in Prompto’s exhausted brain, something important. “Did you think we were on a date, last week?”

Gladio sputters and though the room is dark, Prompto can still see a deep flush of embarrassment on his face. “No, I- uh, I-“

“Because I did.” Oh. Well, it’s out there now. He’s said it and Gladio is standing there, stunned into complete silence, and fuck it. “Are you ever going to kiss me?”

There’s a sharp inhale and then Gladio is laughing. It’s bright and warm and wonderful and he sounds as breathless as Prompto feels. There’s a sudden warmth on his cheek as Gladio lays his hand there softly, guiding Prompto’s face to look into his trainer’s eyes. “Prompto, please, please don’t take this the wrong way but… can I take a rain check? Maybe when you haven’t spent the last hour puking?”

He laughs again and this time Prompto joins him, head falling back onto his pillows, happiness threatening to overwhelm him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um... yeah.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day dawns gray and drizzling. Rain taps out a gentle cadence on the bedroom window as Prompto lies in bed, mentally assessing the miserable state of his body.

He’s not dead- and that’s about the most positive thing he can say, at the moment. From the roots of his hair to the tips of toes, everything aches horribly. He feels like he’s run a hundred marathons and then been rolled over by a bulldozer. The headache alone is enough to kill him ten times over, but hey- at least he isn’t nauseous anymore. Small victories; he’ll take the win where he can.

His bones creak in protest as he swings his hurting body out of bed, bare feet landing gently on the cold floor. More than anything he wants a shower, the long, hot, scalding kind that prunes your skin and empties the hot water heater. 

He sheds his clothes as he walks to the bathroom, leaving a trail of garments behind him like a snake shedding its skin. He had slept in yesterday’s outfit. At least Gladio had been thoughtful enough to help him slip his shoes off before he had left.

Gladio. 

His mind wanders as the first spray of water hits his face, painfully hot and wonderful. Fingers comb through his hair as he replays the events of the night before in his head. The feeling of Gladio’s broad shoulder beneath his as he had held him, the surprised lilt of his voice as Prompto had asked about their date, the exact pitch and timbre of his laugh. He smiles as he remembers it- Gladio’s laugh is a beautiful thing. Prompto wants to steal it and hide it away just for himself.

Head and heart full to bursting, Prompto turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He’s so distracted by his thoughts, he almost doesn’t register the odd sounds coming from inside of his apartment. He freezes, hand reaching for his comb, as a loud clank reaches his ears. Abandoning the comb, he wraps a towel tightly around his waist and creeps as silently as he can through his apartment. There’s more sounds now, another clank and a soft scraping sound along with light footfalls. It’s coming from the kitchen.

Prompto sinks into a defensive crouch, hands at the ready, body hyperalert as he slinks along the wall. Without realizing it, he’s already begun to clear his mind like he does in practice, mentally gearing himself up for a fight. A deep breath, then another, and Prompto flings himself around the corner towards the intruder in his kitchen. 

He barely manages to stop himself in time, hand stiffened and aiming for the intruder’s throat. At the last second, he pulls away, stumbling a bit as the towel wraps itself around his legs. He grabs onto the edge of the kitchen table to steady himself, heart pounding, eyes blinking furiously at the sight in front of him.

It’s Ignis.

In Prompto’s kitchen.

….Cooking breakfast?

“Ah, Prompto, good morning. How do you like your eggs?”

Prompto stares in confusion, answering automatically. “Scrambled.” A myriad of questions flit through his mind, and he settles quickly on the one that seems to be the most pertinent. “Ignis, how did you get into my apartment?”

Ignis turns towards him, leveling him with a serious gaze from behind his glasses. “I work for the royal family. There isn’t anywhere I can’t get into.”

Prompto’s eyes widen in what must surely be a cartoonish expression of shock. Honestly, he’s not sure how to respond to that. He gapes, searching for an answer, when Ignis lets out a small chuckle and turns back to the stove to flip the bacon that’s frying there. 

“Gladio had to take your key to lock up after he left last night. He gave it to me this morning and asked me to return it.”

Prompto stares at Ignis’ turned back, mouth still agape. Oh. Oh. Ignis was joking. Prompto’s a little bit overwhelmed; he hadn’t realized the normally serious advisor could joke. 

He hopes Ignis doesn’t do it again; he’s not sure his heart can handle the strain.

“I’m gonna go put on some clothes,” he mutters, suddenly very away that he’s in a towel and nothing else, water dripping steadily from his hair onto the kitchen floor. While he changes, Prompto attempts to quiet his pounding heart. Adrenaline is still coursing through his veins, and it’s hard to return to normal after such a shock. He had himself mostly under control by the time he returns to the kitchen and plops down tiredly onto a chair. He rests his head against his hand, elbow propped up on the table as he watches Ignis crack two eggs into a waiting pan. “So, is this a thing? You sneak into people’s apartments to cook breakfast?”

Ignis’ voice has just a touch of mirth as he replies, “Like I said, I spoke to Gladio this morning. He seemed concerned, so I thought you could use the help.”

“Is it always that bad?” he asks, remembering what Gladio had told him the day before about Ignis’ own experience with the royal magic.

With a click, Ignis turns off the burners on the stove and slides a plate of food in front of Prompto before seating himself across from the blonde. The bacon and eggs smell amazing, and Prompto, who’s stomach has been busy doing cartwheels all morning, suddenly realizes how hungry he really is. He mutters a quick and heartfelt thanks before digging in.

“Sometimes it’s worse,” the older man says, mouth twisting to the side in a small smile. “My first time using magic was dreadful.”

“Gladio told me,” Prompto says around a mouthful of food. “What happened?”

“Pretty much the same thing that happened with you, except that I took it very poorly. It took me two days to get out of bed and I was nauseous for a week afterward.”

Prompto makes a noise of sympathy as he swallows another mouthful of food, too happy to be eating to care too much about whether he’s embarrassing himself or not.

“So, aside from the unfortunate side effects, what did you think?”

Prompto stares, unsure of where this line of questioning is going to lead.

“Of the magic,” Ignis prompts.

Prompto swallows thickly, suddenly nervous. “I mean, it was cool and everything, but I don’t know why you guys bothered. What will I ever do with it?”

“Have you given any more consideration to a future in the Crownsguard? Your grades have certainly improved impressively in the time we’ve been working together.”

“They have. And thanks for that, by the way, but…”

Prompto drops his gaze to his nearly empty plate. He doesn’t have any desire to meet Ignis’ eyes; he doesn’t want the man to see the self-doubt he knows is evident in his own. The truth is, he’s given a lot of thought to what he’ll be doing after he graduates. Much more than he’d like to admit. Under the table, he scrapes the fingers of his other hand across the raised barcode on his wrist. His nails dig into his arm painfully as he reminds himself of what he’s always known: It doesn’t matter what he wants. That kind of life, that kind of happiness, is not for him. Not with who, and what, he is.

“I wouldn’t be any good in the Crownsguard,” he says lamely, forcing himself to meet Ignis’ questioning gaze. “I’m just not a good enough fighter, and I haven’t been training for nearly long enough.”

Ignis raises an eyebrow, and Prompto feels a light blush creep across his cheeks. “That’s all well and good, but what do you want Prompto? Regardless of skill level, what would make you happy?”

Gods, he knows what he wants. He also knows it’s not going to happen. His nails dig little furrows into wrist under the table as a reminder.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly, and hopes more than anything that Ignis can’t hear the lie in his voice. 

They stay there for what seems like forever, Prompto miserable and wavering, Ignis calm and appraising. Finally, Ignis stands, and the awkward moment is broken. Prompto sighs internally in relief. 

“I’ll leave you to it then, Prompto. I need to go pick up Noctis at the palace. His meeting with His Majesty should be just about wrapping up. I do hope you feel better.”

“Wait, Ignis.” The advisor turns back towards Prompto, one hand on the doorknob and inclines his head, encouraging Prompto to continue. “Can I catch a ride with you? There’s something I need to do.”

The smile on Ignis’ face is small and knowing.

“Of course.”

 

Prompto’s not sure what comes over him, but when they part ways at the palace, he gives Ignis a quick hug and a genuine thanks. He hadn’t been planning it, but he feels warm and a little giddy inside from Ignis’ concern back at his apartment. It shouldn’t be, but it’s always a pleasant shock when he sees that people really do care for him.

As he walks the huge palace halls, his thoughts turn from Ignis to the reason he’s here- Gladio. There’s a fire in his belly from all this talk about what he wants. And maybe he can’t have most of those things, but this- this is one thing he knows he can have. And for once in his life, he’s going to be as brave as he can be, and reach out and take it for himself.

He stops short at the door to the practice room, eyes trained on the two figures doing a complicated dance across the mats, blades darting and flashing. They’re using real knives, not the blunted practice ones, and the push-and-pull of thrust and block, attack and counter-attack is mesmerizing and beautiful.  
Prompto scarcely takes note of Gladio’s opponent- it’s the Glaive member, the one that always smiles at him when he’s pulling door duty at the side entrance. The man is tall and lean and the braids in his hair fly wildly as he jumps back to avoid a near hit from Gladio. He’s gorgeous in his own way, but right now Prompto only has eyes for Gladio.

His trainer’s face is tight with concentration, but his body is loose from years upon years of practice and repetition. The moves flow from his limbs as if he’s been doing this since birth, which honestly, he has been. Gladio’s face is slick with sweat and his arms are corded with taut muscle and Prompto thinks it’s probably the most dazzling sight he’s even seen. 

He stays there staring, long past what would be considered appropriate. When the two men finally come to a stop, chests heaving and faces red from exertion, Prompto shifts in the doorway. Gladio sees and acknowledges him with a slight incline of his head, as he claps the Glaive on the back and talks cheerfully to him as they towel off and pack up their weapons. Prompto knows he should stop staring, he really should, but his eyes remained glued to Gladio the entire time.

Finally, the Glaive leaves, with a friendly wave at Prompto that he just barely manages to return. Prompto waits until the man is down the hallway, almost out of sight, before stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him with an audible click. Gladio stands on the mats, rubbing his hair with a towel, looking hesitant and just a bit confused.

Prompto strides quickly over to him, stopping just short of Gladio, and they’re standing far too close to each other for comfortable conversation. He has to look up slightly to meet Gladio’s gaze. Amazingly, the nerves he had expected aren’t there. He’s calm and confident.

“Hi.”

Prompto winces internally. Okay, so maybe he’s not that confident. It’s not a bad start, but it’s not exactly as suave as he was imagining.

There’s a hesitant silence before Gladio replies, never breaking eye contact with him. “Hi. Are you feeling better today?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good. Do you want to talk about last night?”

Prompto takes a breath, then another. “No.”

He wonders vaguely in the back of his mind, where the normal Prompto’s gone. This isn’t him. He isn’t this sure and collected; he’s a stuttering ball of nerves and self-doubt on even some of his best days. Thankfully that’s all he has time to think as his body acts on autopilot, hands reaching behind Gladio’s head to thread through his damp hair. He pulls the bigger man towards him and their lips meet.

It’s wonderful. It’s everything he’s been imagining and then some. Gladio’s lips are chapped and rough and the skin around them is salty with sweat. His trainer hesitates for a brief second, but before Prompto has time to panic, Gladio melts into the kiss, lips moving with fervor on Prompto’s own. Prompto twines his hands tighter into his dark hair, and Gladio makes a small sound of approval that sends a bolt of electricity straight through Prompto’s body. He feels Gladio’s tongue on his lips, and opens his mouth eagerly, deepening the kiss.

And maybe Prompto can’t have everything he wants, but he thinks he just might be okay with that, if only he can have this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love each and every one of you guys for reading. Thank you!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home stretch guys. Maybe two or three more chapters after this.

Noctis, to his credit, doesn’t spend the next couple months giving them as hard of a time as he clearly wants to. There are the occasional eye rolls and demands for them to get a room, but it’s all undercut but how obviously happy the prince is to see two of his favorite people happy together at last. Of course, that doesn’t mean he lets them off the hook all of the time.

“Ugh,” Noctis groans as he rolls his eyes in the most exaggerated manner he can manage. “I don’t remember ordering a side of PDA with my meal.”

Across the table from him, Gladio snorts in amusement as Prompto drops his head in mock shame. “Funny,” Gladio says drily. “I don’t remember anyone inviting you at all.” The harshness of his words is completely undercut by his fond tone and the reassuring squeeze he gives Prompto’s knee under the table.”

“I invited me,” Noctis says, undeterred as he tosses a French fry in Gladio’s direction. “I happen to think I’m excellent company.”

“Yes, and we are all so clearly grateful to be blessed with your magnanimous company.”

“Gladio! I had no clue you knew words that big!”

Gladio’s rude reply is cut mercifully short by Ignis’ arrival. The advisor raises a curious eyebrow at Prompto, who’s nearly doubled over in amusement, as he drops a stack of folders onto the table and slides into the seat next to Noctis.

“You’re later than normal,” Prompto says between fits of laughter. 

“Preparations,” Ignis says simply, pushing his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose with one finger. “His Majesty is very excited to see his only son graduate. And with honors, no less.”

Noctis waves a casual hand in front of his face, a slight blush creeping across his features. Prompto smiles, momentarily overwhelmed by pride for his best friend, before Noctis turns to face him.

“Prompto’s graduating too, don’t forget.”

The look that Noctis gives him is almost enough to make Prompto start crying in the middle of the restaurant; it’s love and pride and friendship mixed all together into a beautiful emotion that’s clear on his face. Ignis nods and gives him a murmur of congratulations as well while Gladio’s hand gives Prompto’s knee another gentle squeeze.

“Couldn’t have done without you guys, especially you Ignis. Thanks.” Prompto finds his voice suddenly thick with emotion and he ducks his head to avoid saying anything further. 

Even more than just graduating, the past few months have given him more than he’d ever imagined possible. The simple fact that all four of them are sitting here together is proof enough. He has friends, real friends now. They fight and tease and joke and support each other unconditionally and it’s all almost more than he can believe. Loneliness had always been his most constant companion, and now it’s gone. It’s all he can do not to cry.

Gladio, seeming to sense the sudden change in Prompto, moves the hand gripping his knee to settle lightly on Prompto’s a waist. It’s a steady, calming sensation and it grounds Prompto as he turns to smile at his boyfriend. And gods, it’s still so strange to think of him that way, even in his own head. Prompto mentally adds to his list of things that have gone so unbelievably right in his life in the past year.

Noctis, being Noctis, breaks the moment of course. “Ugh, you guys know we’re still here, right? And in public.”

Gladio makes a rude gesture at the prince while Prompto throws a french fry of his own. Ignis shakes his head in exasperation, but the look on his face is nothing but fond. “Yes, well,” the advisor says, shifting the conversation back into a slightly more serious tone. “We’re proud of both of you. And while we’re all here, Gladio and I have something we’d like to discuss with the two of you.”

Prompto, who had returned his attention to the food in front of him, looks up sharply, his gaze switching between Ignis and Gladio. He raises a questioning eyebrow at his boyfriend, who gives him an uncharacteristically self-satisfied grin. Across the table, Noctis looks as confused as Prompto feels. There’s something else lurking in the prince’s eyes as well, some emotion that Prompto can’t quite place, but he quickly forgets about it as Ignis starts speaking again.

“Gladio and I thought, that in honor of you both graduating this year, we could all take a trip together afterwards.”

“Thought we’d take you guys camping,” Gladio says, taking over for Ignis. “You know sleeping under the stars, nature, a fire, a little beer. No better way to spend your time.”

This time it’s Noctis who rolls his eyes. It’s always amusing to hear the way Gladio can wax poetic at something as simple as roughing it. He catches Prompto’s eyes across the table and they both smile.

“That sounds great,” the prince replies as Prompto nods his agreement. “It’ll be fun.”

Ignis pushes his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose again, and gives them a brief nod. “Good, it’s settled then. We’ll go the night after the graduation ceremony. I’ll make all the necessary arrangements.”

The conversation veers off topic then, Gladio and Noctis arguing over the finer points of what are and aren’t considered necessary supplies. Prompto tries to stay engaged but somewhere between Noctis insisting that yes, they at least need a tent to sleep in and no, he’s not interested in getting quite that close to nature, his mind slips away.

While the time spent with his friends has done a lot of whittle away at his insecurity and anxiety, it hasn’t gone away completely. A part of him knows that it never will, although at the very least, it’s more manageable now. The talk of graduation, however, triggers something in him. Prompto has very pointedly been doing his best to not think about what will happen in the next month, once high school is finally over. He knows what will happen to the others. Ignis and Gladio will gone on as they have been; they’ve both finished school already and to them, this is just a normal occurrence. Noctis has already been excepted into the best university in Lucis, not that there was ever in real question to him being admitted in the first place. He is after all, the crown prince, and besides his studies there will also be an alarming amount of official duties he must begin to take on.

It’s Prompto’s own future that makes him hesitate. He’s spent the last few months searching, and to his immense relief, he has a job lined up at a photography studio so at least he won’t end up destitute. But the change terrifies him. What will happen to his friendship with Noctis? Will the prince have time for him, especially with his new mantle of responsibility? And Gladio, will he still…? 

Prompto wraps a hand around the back of his own neck, squeezing hard, until he’s able to derail his thoughts. Not now, not while he’s out with the three of them and they’re laughing and joking. He’s going to miss this desperately, he knows, and he doesn’t want to waste a single moment.

A warm hand wraps around his own, and Prompto leans gratefully into the touch. For all his harsh exterior, Gladio has proven himself surprisingly adept at sensing Prompto’s changing moods. Just another thing about this man that Prompto wants to steal away and keep with him forever. Prompto laces his fingers with Gladio’s and they both stay that way, eating one-handed, until Ignis reminds Noctis that he has a meeting at the palace. Noctis grumbles, but ultimately stands and, after exchanging good-byes, follows Ignis out of the restaurant to the car.

Gladio remains a comforting, silent presence at Prompto’s side as they make the short drive to Prompto’s apartment. Prompto rolls down the window, and leans his head down on his crossed arms, thoughts swirling around his head. The air is warm and tinged with the fresh smells of spring and the harsh tang of motor oil from the road. He can feel Gladio’s eyes on the back of his head at times during the drive, but they’re both content to remain silent. They’ve long since grown comfortable in each other’s company.

Before long, they’re pulling to a stop in front of the apartment and it’s Gladio who breaks first. “Prompto,” he begins uncertainly. Prompto turns and tries to give him an encouraging smile and hopes his eyes can convey what his mouth can’t. That it’s all okay, and this is just Prompto being Prompto. He’ll never be fully rid of his anxiety, and that’s okay too.

He’s expecting questions or sympathy or maybe reassurance, but that’s not what happens. Instead Gladio says, “I got something for you. A gift.” Gladio’s eyes are beautifully serene in the dark car. Prompto gapes at him, at a loss for words, and Gladio continues. “I was going to wait and give it to you for your graduation, but I think now’s the right time.”

“Oh,” Prompto says, struck momentarily speechless by the sudden gesture. Gladio is kind, and surprisingly gentle, and unfailingly attentive, but they’re relationship has not really been defined by gifts or anything of the sort. It’s a pleasant surprise. “Thank you.”

Gladio chuckles and he twists his body in the seat to reach for something in the back of the car. “Don’t say thank you yet. What if you don’t even like it.”

The absurdity of the statement puts Prompto immediately back at ease and he smiles as Gladio turns back around and hands him a simple box. “Whatever, I’m sure it’s awesome.”

“Sorry it’s not wrapped or anything. I just picked it up this afternoon.”

Prompto bites back a real laugh this time at the image of Gladio wrapping a present. It’s hard to wrap his mind around the idea of Gladio doing something so mundane; the thought of his hands, which could be so deadly, wrapped around colorful paper and tape instead of a sword is almost ridiculous and absolutely charming.

His throat catches, choking off the laugh, as he lifts the lid of the box. There, laid on a protective foam backing, is the most beautiful handgun Prompto’s seen in his life. The grip is dark, polished mahogany colored wood and it’s edged in the same bright silver that makes up the frame. The silver shines in the dark interior of the car, catching the light of passing cars and throwing it in fractal patterns across the dashboard. Prompto’s hands tremble slightly as he lifts the gun from the box and brings it closer to inspect the fine golden filigree inlaid on the barrel in a beautiful, intricate pattern.

“Oh,” he gasps. “Oh, wow.” He looks from the gun to Gladio and hopes the reverence he feels is captured in his gaze. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I love it.” Prompto takes his time, carefully tucking the gun back into it’s protective casing and replacing the lid of the box before he reaches out, one hand resting lightly on Gladio’s cheek. Gladio smiles softly and Prompto’s heart aches with it as he’s filled with a rush of emotion. This is the Gladio that he loves the most, the soft version that no one sees but him. “Sleep here tonight?”

Gladio nods and they exit the car, reluctant to break the physical contact even for a few minutes. They walk, hand in hand, to the apartment door, and after locking it behind them, find that words are no longer necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys. Please let me know what you thought!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I played Episode Prompto. As much as I loved it, I don't feel like reworking my entire story, so for the purposes of this universe, Prompto knows from early on about his birth and that does a lot to contribute to his feelings of worthlessness. Hope that doesn't bother anyone too much.

“How’s the knee?”

Prompto lets out an agitated puff of air as a response to Gladio’s question, while his fingers probe gently at his aching knee.

“That bad, huh?”

“Oh,” Prompto shrugs his shoulders and says in an overly bright tone, “I’m sure it’ll stop hurting once I’m dead.”

Gladio snorts in laughter as Prompto shoots him a pained grin. While twisting his knee during sparring practice with Gladio earlier that day hadn’t been his best moment, it was still pretty far from his worst.  
Besides, his knee hurts but he’s having trouble caring when Gladio is sitting there, pensive and perfect, like a marble statue, on Prompto’s bed. The moonlight streaming through Prompto’s bedroom window bathes the room in a soft, silver glow, throwing shadows across Gladio’s face and the hard planes of his chest.

Prompto’s smile falters a bit as he catches Gladio’s eyes. He feels a blush creep it’s way across his cheeks as his ears start to burn. Just looking at Gladio really shouldn’t do this to him anymore. It’s not fair, the power the older man commands over him with just one look. Their relationship isn’t even new now, it’s practiced and comfortable, like slipping on a favorite worn pair of jeans. But still, Gladio’s eyes on him threaten to melt him, even now.

Prompto falls gratefully into the bed at Gladio’s side and settles in, glad to take the weight off of his injured knee as he does his best not to look rattled by Gladio’s mere existence. Gladio’s hands move automatically, one rubbing gently at Prompto’s knee and the other dragging at the blonde strands on his head.

Prompto sighs, content, and lets himself drift away to the feelings of Gladio’s long fingers tracing random patterns through his hair. He’s just falling asleep, the gentle rise and fall of Gladio’s chest lulling him into a trance, when Gladio’s voice breaks the silence.

“What’s this?” He asks innocently, tapping at Prompto’s wrist, where it’s lying against the bedspread.

Instantly on alert, Prompto shoots up, all traces of sleepiness vanishing as he feels his blood run cold. “What’s what?” He asks, stalling anxiously. He couldn’t believe he had been so careless. He had gotten too comfortable, too trusting, and forgotten to replace his leather band after his shower. How stupid! He berates himself viciously inside his own head while his mind scrambles to come up with something, anything to say.

“It’s, um..” Prompto feels himself heat up, feels sweat begin to gather at the small of his back as his brain furiously works itself into a state of panic. He has a sudden, momentary vision of himself grabbing for the knife he knows Gladio keeps in his boot and turning the blade on himself, digging it in to the pale flesh of his wrist, tearing the barcode from his skin. He wonders briefly if that would even work, or if the shameful secrets of his origin are etched onto his very bones.

“I never knew you had a tattoo,” Gladio continues, blissfully unaware of Prompto’s mental meltdown just a few feet away. His hand catches Prompto’s now flailing wrist, tugging it towards his face for a closer inspection.

“It’s nothing,” Prompto finally says, snatching his arm out of Gladio’s loose grasp.

Gladio put his hands up with an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry, sorry. We won’t talk about it. Believe me, you’re definitely not the first person to regret a tattoo. I won’t bring it up again.”

“Thanks,” Prompto mumbles, wrapping his other hand firmly across his wrist, covering the barcode completely. He swallows thickly, trying to push down the sickening wave of guilt that washes over him. He’s not lying, technically, but he’s also not being entirely truthful. The deceit feels worse than it ever has before.

Gladio seems to sense the tension in the air and thankfully changes the subject. “Are you excited about graduating tomorrow?”

The sense of relief Prompto feels to move on to another topic is almost palpable. He nearly sobs in relief. Here is familiar ground, somewhere he can plant his feet firmly and without hesitation. He cocks an eyebrow at Gladio and grins. “Am I excited about being one step closer to poverty? Thrilled,” he says, not meanly, but with a slight edge of sarcasm.

In response, Gladio rolls his eyes. “We’ve been over this a dozen times. You’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. After all, you didn’t think you were even going to graduate, and now here you are.”

“Yeah, because of Iggy.”

Gladio shoots him an expression that Prompto has begun to think of as “The Look”, usually reserved for whenever he thinks Prompto is being melodramatic. “Pretty sure your hard work had something to do with it. I still don’t know why you didn’t apply to university. You could have gone with Noctis.”

Prompto sighs and pulls his legs up against his chest to rest his chin on them, ignoring the dull ache from his protesting knee. Gladio still didn’t really get it; none of them did. And to be honest, Prompto doesn’t particularly feel like having the talk again. He could tell all three of them that he didn’t have the money until he was blue in the face, but unless they could walk in his shoes, they’d never truly understand.

“I’m thinking about bringing my camera this weekend. I want to try and get some good shots of the four of us before Noctis gets too busy with university.”

Gladio stares at him, something in his eyes far too close to pity for Prompto’s liking. “You know-“ he begins, but Prompto quickly interrupts him.

“I’m going to go to sleep. Big day tomorrow.” He forces a weak laugh and turns away from Gladio. He can feel Gladio’s eyes on his back still. Prompto lays down on his side, holding the muscles of his body taut, and only relaxes once he feels Gladio turn away and lay down on the other side of the bed. He blinks back tears of frustration; frustration with his life, frustration with his friends for not understanding, frustration with himself. He stays like for hours after Gladio’s snoring fills the room, only managing to fall asleep when dawn’s first rays begin to paint the sky pink.

 

 

“All right, that’s the last of it,” Gladio announces, easing shut the trunk of the Regalia and dusting off his hands. “Would’ve gone quicker if his highness hadn’t packed like we were going on a month long trek into the wilderness.”

“Hey!” Noctis leaps quickly to his own defense, brow furrowed and one hand on his hip. “I like to be prepared. What if there’s an emergency? You’ll be thanking me for my foresight.”

“Sure,” Gladio says, stretching out the word longer than is necessary while raising a disbelieving eyebrow.

Prompto smiles to himself. While he might not have been excited to graduate, he’s been looking forward to this trip. A wonderful feeling of belonging washes over him as he watches Noctis and Gladio banter, while Ignis pointedly ignores the both of him and continues looking over the map of Lucis he’s procured. Things are going to change soon. They’ll move on with their lives, and Prompto will continue on the only way he knows how, just surviving. Prompto knows he can’t do anything about it really, but that doesn’t mean he won’t miss this terribly.

“Got your camera?” Gladio asks, shaking Prompto out of his thoughts. The bigger man comes up behind him and slides his hands around Prompto’s waist as he talks and drops a quick kiss to Prompto’s shoulder. 

“Ughh,” Noctis groans, before Prompto can answer. “Again with the PDA. You guys are awful.”

Gladio quirks an eyebrow at Noctis from over Prompto’s shoulder. “If that’s what you think PDA looks like, you are in for a world of hurt at university.”

“Well then,” Noctis says, crossing his arms, “I guess it’s a good thing I have a shield to protect me.”

“Hey, no one ever said I had to protect you from your own naivety.”

Noctis makes a rude gesture at Gladio, though the grin on his face shows he doesn’t mean anything by it. In the ensuing laughter, Ignis finally folds up the map he’s been studying and tucks it neatly into a pocket. 

“Are we all ready to go?” he asks. For all his usual formality, he’s barely suppressing a smile himself. That fact just makes Prompto laugh harder.

“Yeah, we’re good Iggy,” Gladio answers, pulling an arm from around Prompto’s waist to point at the Regalia. “Car’s all packed. You got the directions down?”

“Indeed. We should get to the haven well before dark if we head out now.”

Ignis starts to head towards the driver’s seat, while the rest of them pile into the car, when Noctis suddenly speaks up.

“Come on Iggy, you drive like someone’s great-grandmother. Let me drive. We’ll get there way faster.”

Ignis turns to give the prince a look that could wither steel. “Yes, but is getting there faster really worth the years it will take off all our lives in stress?”

Noctis’ face twists itself into a frown, as Prompto does his best to hold back another bout of laughter. “He’s right,” Gladio says, agreeing with Ignis. “I’m much too pretty to die young.”

“Pretty ugy,” Noctis shoots back automatically. The prince turns to Prompto with a pleading look in his eyes. “Come on Prompto, you’re supposed to be my best friend. Back me up here?”

Prompto puts his hands up in defeat. He’d love to back Noctis on this, he really would, but experience has taught him otherwise. “Uh, no can do on this one buddy. Remember last year? That night after your birthday?”

All four of them shudder involuntarily. Noctis quietly concedes his defeat, climbing into the backseat quickly, while the rest of them take their own seats. Ignis turns the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life, then settles down into a gentle purr. It really is an amazing car, Prompto thinks as he runs a hand over the smooth black finish of the car’s interior. Here like this, with the road rolling away beneath them, the wind ruffling his hair, and his friends at his side, he’s content. His future the closest and most uncertain that it’s ever been, but he can’t find it in himself to be upset. Not today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! New chapter next week.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! More chapters soon.


End file.
